Wounded Wing
by MSerrada
Summary: NOW a WIP - AU beginning the first day of the Occupation of New Caprica. Kara's experiences over those 4 months is much more traumatic than anyone realized, and her people on Galactica have to deal with the aftermath. Very Dark fic, especially early on, but I like light endings. Trigger Warnings!
1. Chapter 1 Point Taken

The New Caprican Detention Center was the first building erected by the Baltar Administration and the first the occupying Cylons were working to expand. Less than four hours on the planet and Centurions were already visibly adding two new extensions onto the oppressive structure. Stepping into the shadow of the looming prison, Kara Thrace balked, locking her knees against the pressure of the hand on her elbow. Along with the two Centurion guards flanking her, the Cylon skin-job gripping her arm also came to a halt as she literally dug in her heels in the dirt of the dismal planet.

"Kara, don't make me drag you, it's unbecoming," Leoben said calmly. She knew he really meant _not again_ as he had less than fifteen minutes ago when he'd pulled her kicking and cursing from the tent she shared with her husband.

Turning her head slightly, Starbuck spit at his feet, refusing to give him the satisfaction of any other answer. At his bemused look and the hard pressure on her elbow, she let him propel her forward again. And, as the gate of the facility snicked shut behind her, a shiver wove down her spine and she tensed further in apprehension of Leoben's purpose in taking her. Revenge for her torturing him had been her obvious first thought, yet…

No, that wasn't what he was after.

Kara couldn't say why but she was positive; she just knew. Also, disregarding the next most logical thought that they wanted her for her military knowledge, she instead was grimly certain that this was about her 'special destiny', whatever the frak it was.

Twisting her head back, she gave a last look beyond the barrier, searching for some sign that her capture had been noted, and realizing that this might be the last time she glimpsed the sky. As they crossed a second threshold, the solid metal door closed behind them with an ominous clang, sealing her to whatever fate was lay ahead, and Kara faced forward again, struggling to contain the fear-spiked adrenaline surge. She knew it was probably suicide to try to attack the skin-job now.

_Wait. Watch. Move when I got a chance_, she told herself. It was damned hard, though.

As Leoben lead her up several flights of stairs and deeper into the structure, seemly oblivious to her fuming glares, he flashed an occasional, pleased smile that might have been meant as reassuring. Her stomach twisted. The need to wipe the triumph from his face was nearly overpowering, so she forced her focus on their path instead, memorizing the layout of the prison as best she could.

Stopping before a door with a small window, Leoben unlocked it and pushed Kara inside. The small cell held only a cot, while a spigot and toilet were attached to the back wall.

_All the comforts of home. Better, since the plumbing's indoors,_ she thought as she gave the cell a quick glance before turning back to her captor.

"This," Leoben gave a wave to indicate the cell, "is just for a day or so. Until I've prepared our place," he said.

Kara wondered what the frak he meant by that, but kept her mouth clamped shut and her sneer in place, unwilling to give the Toaster the satisfaction of seeing her confusion and fear.

Regarding her with intense eyes, Leoben smiled as he continued, "I'll be back later with dinner. We can talk then."

"Don't want to eat with you, you frakkin' Toaster. I want the frak outta here," she bit out, then cursed herself as his smile widened at her outburst.

"I understand, Kara." His head tilted slightly. "Soon, you'll understand, too." On that cryptic remark, he stepped back, obviously not willing to turn his back to her, and pulled the door closed.

Kara waited for the click of the lock and then spun away.

She grabbed the cot and upended it. Taking hold of one end, she swung the metal frame against the wall, trying to break loose a leg or strut—anything to use as a weapon. The heavy steel refused to snap, barely bending beneath her onslaught. Unleashing a scream of rage, Kara settled for tearing apart the pad, scattering the stuffing across the floor until she'd reduced it to 'fluff and tatters'.

Breathing heavily from her exertions and lingering anger, Kara stood with hands on her hips and slowly turned in place. Frowning, she considered the sanitary unit. She knelt beside the toilet, feeling around the back, searching for any fixture she could possibly pry loose.

"_Son of bitch!" _Starbuck cursed, rising and shaking her bleeding thumb, having caught it on the jagged edge of a bolt. She kicked at the offending metal commode before turning to pace the tiny cell, still mumbling obscenities and sucking on her wound.

Snatching a scrap of cloth from the destroyed bed, she leaned against the concrete wall and wrapped her thumb with the makeshift bandage before moving to inspect the door, rapping it with her knuckle to test its strength. If not solid metal, it was the next thing to it. And no joy on the hinges, either.

Starbuck considered for a moment trying to use the cot as a battering ram, but without a couple more people to add mass, it wouldn't do much more then scratch the paint. With her back to door, she grimly stared at the mess she'd made, and all for naught.

With a frustrated sigh, she conceded that there just wasn't anything she could use as a weapon. Then her eyes fell again on the shredded fabric…and lingered. A slow smile stretched her lips and her jade eyes took on a wicked glint as she sat down beside the tattered remnants and began to pull long strips of material free.

Casting occasional glances at the door, Kara got to work, focusing on her task and not the myriad of thoughts that threatened to swamp her. Such as 'where the frak was the Galactica' and 'was Sam ok'? No, she wouldn't let herself be distracted right now.

She started to hum and tunneled her vision to her fingers.


	2. Chapter 2 Vectors

Chapter 2 Vectors

Leoben came hours later with a food tray heavily laden with an assortment of cheeses, breads and raw vegetables. Kara couldn't help the way her mouth involuntarily watered at the feast. It had been so long since she'd had _anything_ fresh. Her original intention had been to refuse to eat with the skin-job. She had made other plans since, and was just as happy that lulling Leoben into complacence was part of them.

Now, as they each sat on one end of the righted cot frame with the tray between them, Kara stuffed another piece of cheddar into her mouth, savoring its sharp flavor as she observed Leoben from beneath her lashes. On entering the cell, the Cylon had frowned when he'd see the tattered mess she'd made of the pad, but hadn't commented on it, he'd just asked her to straighten the cot so they could sit.

Firmly reminding herself to appear cooperative—_yeah, right_—Kara had done as asked and kept her mouth closed. Not that she was needed to carry the conversation. Leoben had launched into full sermon mode almost immediately, going on and on about his rivers and her path, and the frakkin' destiny his god wanted her to embrace.

If her teeth snapped through the celery with more force than necessary, she figured the skin-job wouldn't notice. She just hoped he didn't notice the very slight bulge that wrapped about her waist under the band of her cargo pants.

_That's right. Nod like a good little disciple, Kara. Let the Toaster see how willing you are to listen to his drivel. _

She wiped her offside hand on her pants and surreptitiously hooked a thumb under her waistband and cautiously pulled the braided cord into a bunch beneath her palm, confident that he couldn't see what she was doing. Grabbing the last sliver of carrot, she 'accidentally' tipped the tray, causing it to fall to the concrete floor with clatter.

As Leoben instinctively bent to retrieve it, Kara struck, looping her coil around his neck and flinging herself onto his back, grimly clinging as he lurched to his feet. His choking sounds were mere whispers overlapped by the sound of the cot striking the wall as he stumbled into it, unbalanced by her weight on his back.

Starbuck's hands were strong. It might have been close to a year since she'd flown a Viper, but there'd been plenty of heavy lifting necessary as the tent city was raised and she now brought that strength to bear, twisting the material as she felt the body of her enemy weakening. Leoben dropped to his knees, increasing Kara's leverage and she grunted as she squeezed harder. Finally, all resistance ceased and Leoben slumped in her grip. Careful to keep the pressure, she let the body fall to the side, maintaining her hold for another full minute to be absolutely sure before releasing him and checking for a pulse.

Rising, she shook her hands out and glared down at the dead Cylon.

_Frakker thought he could keep me locked up? He should've asked Simon why that's a 'bad freakin' idea'!_

Shoving aside a grimace of distaste, Kara searched his pockets and triumphantly pulled forth the cell key. After uncoiling her homemade garrote from about the mottled neck—never know, might come in handy again—she hurried to the door, pressing a ear flat and listening. Couldn't hear anything. Nothing to do but stick her head out and see.

Unlocking it as quietly as she could, she peeked out through the partially open door. Still nothing. With a breath, she went ahead and took a quick look both ways. Coast clear, no guards in sight. Right, good so far. Now to see if that Starbuck luck could carry her a little further.

She moved in the direction they originally had come, treading cautiously along the long hallway. As she passed other doors, she took a moment to jiggle each knob and tried the key in the first few. All locked and each must have its own key, so nothing to do but go on, she decided_._ After some twenty feet, the corridor had a branching hall to the right. Pausing at the corner, Kara carefully checked down its length.

"Right or straight," she muttered. "Wish I had a cubit to flip."

She remembered the way out, of course, but there was no chance of just strolling out the front gate. Pressing fingers to her temple, Kara tried to massage some kind of out-of-the-box plan to the surface. If she could find some way to access the roof, then she could—_maybe_—drop onto the lower portion of the structure. From there, Kara figured she might be able to find a hole in the guards' coverage of the perimeter. It was worth a try. Better to get shot trying to escape than find out what Leoben had in store for her; listening to his rambling about how they were meant to be together had convinced her of _that_.

With a shrug, she turned down the right passage and sent a little prayer to the gods it truly _be_ the right one.

Following the hall to where it turned left, Kara bit back a curse on seeing it come to a dead end another fifteen feet along. With lip held between her teeth, she hurriedly backtracked to the original corridor and moved forward again.

How long would it take for Leoben to download? Did they have Centurions patrolling inside? Wishing she had a gun in her hand instead of the braided coil, Kara pushed on. As she approached a T intersection of the hall, she heard the distinctive sound of clanking ahead. Desperately twisting the knob of the nearest door, _"Son of a bitch,"_ she cursed when it was locked like all the others.

Glancing over her shoulder, she was about to make a run for the last side corridor, but swung to face forward again as the chrome-job wheeled around the corner and sighted her. Its mechanical arms unfolded into guns, targeting in on her with frightening speed. With a sharp inhale, Kara defensively threw up her arms, instinctively cringing as she braced for the tearing impact of the slugs.

It took a long moment for her to realize that she was still alive, the Centurion hadn't fired. Kara looked up as the Cylon guard advanced on her. Forcing her riveted gaze from the black hole of the muzzle still pointed at her forehead, she locked on the red, slowly strobing 'eye', and a detached part of her wondered if it was receiving orders or just doing its version of thinking. She held herself still as it stomped to a halt in front of her.

Cold metal fingers grasped her arm in a painfully tight grip and forced her back the way she'd come. The cell door was still open and the Cylon forced her inside. It seemed to take a moment to evaluate the scene, undoubtedly noting the unmoving body of the Two.

Held in place by the Centurion, Kara caught her breath and assumed they were waiting for the skin-job to resurrect and return. Without a plan to distract her, her thoughts abruptly shifted to the battlestars that had been in orbit when the Cylons had jumped in. Since there hadn't been some mass attempt to evacuate the colonists, she had to assume that the Galactica and Pegasus had been outnumbered and forced to retreat.

As much as it bothered her to know that the fleet had left, she knew that it had to have practically killed the Old Man to have had to jump away and leave over three-quarters of the remaining human population to their fate.

Waiting for the reappearance of her jailer, Kara wasn't seriously concerned that the Admiral had abandoned her; she knew it had to be only temporary, just until he'd had time to devise a rescue op to retake the planet. No, what chilled her with dread was contemplating what form of retaliation Leoben might take in response to her escape attempt. His reactions to her long-ago interrogation of him hadn't been at all what she'd expected. No telling how he was going to respond to her killing him—even if it _was_ only a temporary death.

Kara tried to turn her thoughts from the upcoming confrontation and passed some time studying the Centurion. This was the first she'd been close to one and not fighting for her life. She got bold—or bored—enough after awhile to try to jerk her arm from its hold. Needn't have bothered. The sucker didn't even budge. Nor did it respond to taunting comments or curses she discovered. Maybe the metal frakkers didn't pretend to have emotions like their humanoid cousins? No. That didn't jive with what Sharon had explained about Scar. And if a Raider could hate, a Centurion certainly had to have an emotional circuit or two.

_Maybe the frakker's as bored as I am,_ she sourly thought with a derisive snort.

As time dragged on, her thoughts reluctantly turned to her husband as she'd last seen him.

After leaving the Chief already making plans for the newly birthed Resistance, Kara had rushed off to check on Sam and let him know that the Cylons had found them. Flinging aside the flap, she had unsuspectingly entered the dimly lit tent and had frozen at the sight of Leoben standing at the foot of her bed. Then, when two Centurions stepped through the entrance right behind her, Sam had tumbled to the floor, struggling to get free of the covers and attempting to rise to help her.

"Hello, Kara," Leoben had genially greeted her, then firmly added, "It's time to go," as he gave a nod to the guards and each had grasped one of her arms.

Instinctively, she'd fought, but her attempts were useless against the chrome-jobs and she could only watch as Sam, finally gaining his feet, took an unbalanced swing at Leoben and was struck down by one negligent blow to the head from the male Cylon. Shouting curses, she'd renewed her struggles as Leoben waved the guards to follow with her. Over her shoulder, she'd last seen Sam laying motionless where he'd fallen, but she'd been ironically reassured by the harsh rasps of his breaths as she'd been pulled away.

Footsteps in the hall beyond the cell yanked her mind back to the present and Kara gave the Two model that stepped into the doorway one of her most mocking smirks, though her teeth were gritted behind her thinned lips as she sought to convince herself that it was only anger that twisted her stomach at the sight of newest copy of Leoben as he stood regarding her.

"I have her. You may go," the skin-job said to his metal counterpart, then politely added, "Thank you," as the guard retracted its palm and shuttled past.

"Such manners. I'd complement your mama, but wait…that's right, Toasters don't have mothers," Starbuck taunted, crossing her arms, feeling the rough fabric still balled in her fist, hidden under her other forearm.

Though his eyes were narrowed speculatively on her, his voice was mellow as he said, "I just wanted to make sure you were ok." At her raised brows, "The Centurions follow instructions very well, but it was still reckless to try to escape," this time his tone held a definite warning.

"Fine. I promise not to try to escape again." This time it was his turn to show disbelief. "Let me go and I won't have to," she added, watching as he shook his head at her intransigence attitude.

"Speaking of which. Hand over the key." He extended his palm expectantly. Kara wet her lips, considering the advisability of refusing, then uncurled her left hand to reveal the missing key and then tossed it into the corner.

Before the key had settled, Leoben was on her, shoving her backwards until she slammed into the wall with a thud that rattled her teeth. His hand was at her throat and squeezing, reminiscent of their very first encounter. As she struggled to breathe, Kara felt his other hand easily pry her fingers open, forcing her to drop the cloth garrote. Her vision was dimming when he abruptly released her and she slumped down the wall, gasping, hand going to her throat as she fought not to pass out.

Blinking rapidly now, she saw the Cylon male bending down to retrieve the key.

"Sleep well, Kara. I'll be back with breakfast and we'll try this again."

"Not gonna happen, Toaster," she rasped out. "Not unless you mean me killing you again that is." She managed to nudge the prone dead body with her toe for emphasis.

As Leoben looked from her to his previous body, he gave her an enigmatic look and started to leave again.

"Hey! What about your friend here?" she called out, unwilling to let Leoben leave on an apparent win. "Don't you need to bury, burn or recycle it? You can't leave it here."

"But I can." He gave an unconcerned shrug. "You killed it, you keep it."

"_Frak you say,"_ she bit out, rolling to her knees, intending to go another round with him despite his just proving how helpless she was against him when he wasn't caught by surprise.

"Night, Kara." Leoben pulled the cell door shut and locked before she could reach it.

"Bastard! Let me out, godsdam…" she loudly cursed, then broke off in a coughing fit as her raw throat protested. She switched to pounding on the door with her hands until the palms felt bruised.

After a time she turned and, with her back pressed to the door, slid down until she sat with her hands in her hair, staring at the corpse and soberly facing the realities of the day. The Cylons had found them. The Adamas had taken the battlestars and fled. And one Kara Thrace was being held by a Toaster that saw himself as her guide on some mystical journey.

She began to laugh, a hoarse sound that was devoid of humor, but still preferable to the alternative. Covering her face with her hands, Kara continued to laugh and tried desperately not to think.


	3. Chapter 3 Housewarming

Chapter 3 Housewarming

A Centurion came the next morning, removing both Leoben's remains and that of the sleeping pad she'd shredded.

Over the next two days, Leoben continued to bring her meals. But after her first pointed refusal to touch the food after he'd taken an apple slice from the tray, he took the hint and relented, only bringing enough for Kara and no longer trying to insist that they share. He'd continued to go on about his visions and promising her a surprise very soon. And he was cautiously watchful, though she wasn't sure if he was searching for signs of violence from her or evidence that she was coming around to his perspective.

Whatever the reason, it creeped her out.

His fervent gaze followed her every move, whether she was pacing the tiny cell, spitting epitaphs at him or just sitting as far away as she could get. It made her itch. Gods, what she wouldn't give for a shower to wash away the feeling. During his interrogation he hadn't affected her this way. Of course, their situations had been reversed, but still…

Now, she couldn't believe that she had actually prayed for the Toaster's soul.

When Leoben came later on the third day, Kara thought it seemed too early for dinner, but it was hard to gauge the time locked away in the gray confines of her cell. As he entered without a tray and a Centurion on his heels, she knew something was up.

"It's ready," he said, eagerness in his voice and eyes as he waved her to accompany him. What the frak was 'ready'? And did she even want to know?

A quick glance over his shoulder at the silent Centurion reminded her that it wasn't like she had a choice in the matter. She gave him a dark look, but followed along as they took the same route she had during her escape attempt. Trying to visualize what she could of the layout of the building, Kara thought that they were heading in the direction of the section the Cylons had been expanding upon.

Her heart rate, already up, began to race as a foreboding flash-flooded her mind. Whatever her captors had been building, she was apparently going to benefit from their industry. Morbid thoughts floated her along a current of what type of facilities they might have added. As an obvious addition came to mind, Kara abruptly halted, her knees automatically locking in place as she realized that the Cylons had probably setup another one of their 'Farms'.

"Frak no! I'm not going. You hear me!" She was backing now, retreating until she bumped into the following guard. Kara tried to spin around the machine, but its reactions were too quick, clasping her by the wrist even as Leoben advanced on her. She continued to fight, oblivious to the uselessness of her efforts as she kicked and clawed at Leoben when he tried to grab her other arm. Her shouts of enraged fear echoed down the long corridor until the Cylon male managed to snag her flailing fist. She was crouched now, still straining back against their combined hold and gasping harshly, her panic evident to Leoben.

"Kara. Kara. Stop. I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated, trying to calm her. Her wide eyes finally locked on his, and she read the concern in his gaze.

Shaking her head vigorous, "No! I'm not going. Not to one of your Farms. Gonna have to kill me first." Her words still stampeded forth, but at least she wasn't yanking at their holds anymore.

"I swear. Listen to me." He snapped his fingers to draw her spooked eyes back to him. "I swear there's no Farm on New Caprica. They were a failure, a travesty against god's plan, and we voted not to continue that line of research. There are no more Farms anyplace, Kara. You hear me?"

She shut her eyes, trying to still the shudders that still shook her. Shame heated her face at how completely she'd fallen apart, but the prospect of finding herself back in a Farm... The nightmares that had haunted her since her escape from Caprica hadn't lost any of their soul-piercing terror.

Feeling the slight tug on her wrist held by a hand made of flesh, Kara opened her eyes and stood, seeking to slip back into her role as the insolent Starbuck.

"Let the frak go of me," she growled at Leoben. And if her voice still cracked, she chose to pretend otherwise.

"Are you ok?" he asked, hesitantly dropping his hand and signaling the Centurion to release its hold, too.

"What the frak do you care," she snapped, pale lips pulled back in a sneer.

"I do. In time you'll come to accept that I care a great deal."

"Whatever," was the best comeback she could manage as she rubbed where her wrists were already starting to bruise from her attempts to break free.

"Come along, it's not much farther now," Leoben said, eagerness returning to his voice as he waved their little procession forward again.

Kara forced unsteady legs to carry her after his lengthening strides, feeling the pressure of the Centurion as it trod along just behind her. As the flame of adrenaline banked, her heartbeat settled to a slower pace and her mind cleared enough to consider what a mistake she had just made, revealing one of her greatest fears to an enemy. Grinding her teeth, she stirred her anger to replace the cold the fear had left behind. She was going to have to guard herself better in the future.

Better yet. Find a way out of this frakkin' place.

Up ahead, Leoben turned another corner and lead them through an open gate. He dismissed the Centurion as he unlocked a door on the right and pushed it open. Taking hold of her elbow, he pulled Kara inside and onto the foyer at the top of a metal staircase. As he turned to close the door, Kara saw her chance and took advantage of his momentary distraction to latch her hand onto his where it held her elbow. With a quick tug, she jerk him off balance, and a deft twist sent him tumbling, with sickening thuds, down the stairs.

Grabbing the door before it could swing closed, she grimaced down to where Leoben lay unmoving, his head bent at an unnatural angle. Good, she had a little time. After peering out into the hall to confirm it was clear, she stepped forward and turned to the left.

_Frak, no!_

The Centurion had locked the gate. Her only way out was barred.

"Let me out! Let me outta here!" she yelled, frantically rattling the gate. "I don't belong here! Let me out." Her screams echoed along the hall and heightened her sense of the surreal.

Eventually turning from blocked passage, Kara forced herself to re-enter the apartment and descend the stairs, negligently stepping over the contorted body and pausing beside a glass table, already casing the area for alternate escape routes and weapons. Dread again spun along her spine as she spied the bedroom cubicle with the one queen-sized bed. Wrenching her eyes away, she made a slow circuit of the entire place.

It looked chillingly like her apartment on Caprica.

Her breathing faltered. There was no frakkin' way it was a coincidence that the apartment resembled hers. And the fresh paint smell confirmed that the Cylons—Leoben—had just finished the construction. Why? What game was he playing at here anyways?

She tried to suppress a shiver as her imagination provided various reasons why Leoben might bring her to this type of setup. There might not be Farms anymore, but that didn't preclude the Cylons from trying other methods of reproduction. Derailing the train of those thoughts, Kara crossed the carpet to the curtain-framed windows, only to find that, though they spanned ceiling to floor and the entire side of the unit, they only viewed out onto the other sections of the detention center and the grey skies above.

Feeling chilled by a foreboding sense of isolation, Kara hugged her arms about herself and fought down the insipid panic. Freaking out wasn't going to help, she berated herself, knowing that she had to keep her shit together if she was going to find a way out. Shaking the smothering cloak of malaise off, she strode into the kitchen, carefully inspecting each cupboard for tools to use on the locks and windows, and keeping in mind those that might also be turned to another use, that of Cylon-slaying.

The click of the apartment latch jerked her upright from inspecting the electrical wall outlet.

"Kara?" the familiar voice called out to her. She could hear the slap of his footsteps as he trotted down the metal staircase.

Shrugging on a smile with all the bravado she could muster, Kara ambled from the kitchen to face her captor.

On spying her, Leoben moved forward, stepping into Kara's personal space.

"Not a very friendly way to start your new life," he said. His calm voice, tinged with just a hint of reprimand as if he were addressing a child, caught her by surprise since she'd been anticipating anger. His expression she easily identified as disappointment. She was too intimately familiar with having _that_ look directed her way not to instantly recognize it.

Withdrawing a pace, Leoben's stance relaxed and he gave an expansive waved about them.

"So, what do you think of the place?"

"What the frak's the meaning of this?" She gave jerk of the head to indicate their surroundings' resemblance to her old apartment.

"This is our home now, Kara. Yours and mine," he replied, the corners of his lips lifting just the slightest.

"Like hell! I'm not playing house with you or any other skin-job suitor," she said, taking a step towards _him_ now, and putting all the menace she'd learned over the years in her voice and stance. "Turn me loose or stick me back in the cell, whatever. But I'm _not_ staying here."

"You'll see—in time—you'll see." Leoben moved to within a close foot and his gaze caressed Kara as he spoke with absolute conviction, "One day you'll say you love me. Then you'll kiss me to prove it. I've seen it. The cycle repeated."

She met his intense regard, determined to win this initial battle, yet, as his words sank in and she saw the total conviction in his eyes, Kara gave ground first, turning slightly away and wrapping her arms about herself. As her line of sight was drawn to the window and freedom beyond, anger bubbled past the deep unease his fanaticism had invoked.

_No! He can just frakkin' forget it!_

Swiveling and swinging in one fluid motion, she surprised him yet again, fist connecting solidly with his jaw and spinning him aside. He reached out and grabbed the corner of a chair, steadying himself as he wiped a thumb across his mouth. She glared at him as he rubbed the blood between forefinger and thumb then raised his eyes to lock with hers again. Still there was no anger, only a knowing patience—and it infuriated her.

Her second strike was easily parried and Leoben snagged her wrist as she tried to slip a punch in under his guard. In seconds he had both fists immobilized as he held Kara's arms crossed over her chest and shoved her back into the wall, holding tight as she struggled to break from his grip.

"_Let the frak go. Let go. Get your frakkin' hands off me!" _she raged at him, still trying to twist free.

"Kara, stop. Stop before you hurt yourself," his mild voice just drove her to more violent efforts, and she abruptly slammed her forehead into his nose. Blood flowed and she saw that his eyes were watering, and so were hers from the impact.

Ignoring the dripping crimson, Leoben blinked a few times then continued as if the blow had never happened. "It's useless to keep fighting like this. But I understand... It's what you do. It's not in you to calmly accept your path." He dared to lean in close again as he softly said, "You can't fight your destiny, Kara."

"Frak you," she said, voice still full of fury, but forcing herself to taut stillness within his grip.

Through narrowed eyes, he studied her a moment longer then slowly released his hold. Then, arrogantly turning his back on her, he moved to the kitchen sink and washed the blood from his face. Holding a dishcloth to his nose, Leoben turned to lean against the edge, silent as he met her glare with an enigmatic look.

Kara let her hands drop to her sides as she pulled her gaze away and looked anywhere but at the disturbingly stoic Cylon male. She still had too much adrenaline to burn off, and began pacing the length between the windows and living room, always keeping the skin-job in her peripheral vision.

She saw Leoben rinse the bloody cloth then fold it neatly before turning to regard her again. His relaxed pose only served to tighten her own. How did the skin-job see this going down? Sure, she could hurt him, even kill him—she'd proven that twice already—yet it didn't make a difference, he returned each time and Kara knew that in a straight contest of physical strength, his countered her own with ease.

If he chose to use force…

As if reading her thoughts, "I won't hurt you, Kara. You'll come to love me, come to me willingly," he said, and then added, "I'll be patient until you're ready to accept your role in God's plan."

She decided to ignore his religious ramblings and resumed her restless wandering, scouting the other rooms again. Finding a selection of clothes in her size and style in a closet drew another shudder from her. Leoben obviously had put a lot of forethought into the situation, and she wondered how long he'd been devising this fantasy of his. The skin-job obviously had an agenda and revulsion stirred within Kara.

Sure, he'd spouted off that he was willing to bide his time, but, she wondered, what would happen when he finally realized that she wasn't _ever_ going to accept this fake dollhouse as a home, wasn't going to willingly give him what he wanted.

What would he do then?

And how much time did she have before that moment?


	4. Chapter 4 Gilded Cage

Chapter 4 Gilded Cage

_Twenty-four—Twenty-five—Twenty-six…_ Kara silently counted as she lowered and raised herself above the carpet. Sweat dripped from her nose as she completed her second set of push-ups and rolled over to start the next round of sit-ups in her self-prescribed exercise regimen.

After two weeks locked away in the dreary apartment, she was settling into a routine. The first few days she had spent attempting to find a way out of her prison, prying at window frames and the door with various utensils, all without success.

She'd also killed Leoben a third time, using a heavy lamp to crush his skull. Standing in the middle of the living room, she had waited for his return; sure that she'd pierced his disturbing composure _this_ time. It was stupid to provoke him; she knew it, and yet she couldn't stand around and do nothing.

Entering the apartment a couple of hours later, Leoben had just given her a shake of the head before ordering the Centurion he'd brought along to remove his previous body. His expression only gave her the impression of patient acceptance, like he knew she was compelled to resist yet it saddened him.

How _dare_ the frakker act disappointed in her, he had no right!

Each morning he had fixed breakfast for them, talking continuously about the visions he saw—as if she gave a damn—then he'd politely ask her to wash up. After leaving the apartment for the remainder of the day, he'd return to put together a dinner for them to share in the evening.

Not that she had touched either meal the first two days. She'd sat, with arms crossed, glaring at the plate and refusing to eat. With a sigh, Leoben had picked up her untouched dish each time and scraped it off into the garbage. On the second night he'd caught her with a chicken leg scavenged from the can and told her that she would either eat with him or go without. He'd actually tried to take it from her, only to discover she didn't have any inhibitions about biting _him_. Still without anger, he'd simply twisted her arm behind her back until she was forced to drop the drumstick.

The next day he'd installed a lock on the food cabinet and made a point of emptying the trash can after dumping her scrambled eggs in it. By evening, Kara was getting lightheaded from hunger and the smell of the ham dinner he put in front of her was overpowering. Halfway through watching him eat his meal, she had finally decided that it was better to keep her strength up than win this battle, and she'd started shovel the food into her mouth without looking again at the figure sitting across from her. When she _did_ finally glance at him after pushing her empty plate away, Leoben had the satisfied smile curving his lips that she'd expected.

_Damn him!_

She'd flung her dish against the wall then, hearing the crash as it shattered. Had his lips tightened just the tiniest bit? Kara couldn't say for sure, but she'd gotten a measure of her own satisfaction in the act of destruction. He'd given her the same sad headshake and said he was going to bed and invited her to join him.

_That_ had frozen her in place at the time.

Sprawled out on the carpet, having lost track of her count on the sit-ups, Kara recalled the fear that had surged forward that night.

She'd been sure that Leoben was going to finally make his move. Force the issue between them. After all, it was too early for him to be going to sleep, and he had undoubtedly grown tired of waiting for her to join him in the bedroom of her own volition. The first two nights in the apartment he'd issued the same request. Each time, accepting her refusal without comment, leaving her to sleep on the living room couch instead. Not that she'd gotten much rest. Between her restless searching for an escape and her nervous certainty that he was only waiting for her to drop her guard, she'd only nodded off for short periods.

Leoben must have correctly interpreted her thoughts about his invitation that night for he'd firmly restated that he'd meant what he'd said the first day, that he'd not force her. So, after her first meal in several days, Kara had relaxed enough to actually doze off for a few hours stretched out on the couch. She had still jerked awake repeatedly throughout the night at the slightest sound.

Now, climbing to her bare feet, Kara wiped an arm across her sweaty brow and surveyed of the nicely appointed cell, searching yet again for some weakness in her prison's confines. The ducts were too small, the door and lock impervious to her efforts, and she'd already tried first breaking, then prying, the windows open.

Kara ambled towards the corner where she had finally pinpointed one of the surveillance cameras and flipped it the bird before turning and brushing the damp bangs out of her eyes. It had been on the fourth day of her imprisonment when she'd confirmed her suspicion that the place was monitored.

The morning had begun with her sullenly eating the pancakes placed before her. Leoben again had politely asked her to clean up the kitchen and the shattered dinner plate from the night before. Kara remembered how the dirty dishes had been piling up in the sink and starting to give the place a slightly rancid smell. She had ignored him like usual as he finished getting ready and left for the day. With food and some sleep, her restless energy had become unbearable and she'd turned to a new plan. It had plenty of holes, and was as likely to get her killed as set her free. But what the hell, it was better than staring at the walls.

Using shoelaces, Kara devised a tripwire at the top of the stairs. Then she'd carefully assembled a variety of flammable items in pans in the kitchen by the stove. After snapping off the bottom portion of a broom, she had a wooden dagger and used the other end to make a torch with a cooking oil soaked cloth woven into the bristles. She also had ready the bottle of shampoo the Cylon had thoughtfully provided her.

The plan hadn't been particularly original. Set a fire. Wait for someone to investigate. From there, it depended on who showed—chrome or skin-job. The tripwire as her first line of attack. Then she hoped to be able to use the broom handle weapon or torch if dealing with a skin-job, or the shampoo if one of the metal Toasters. With no chance of fighting one of them, her only bet was to squirt the thick liquid in what passed for its face, hopefully blinding it long enough for her to escape. Thin chance of success, and things could get bad—fast—especially if no one came at all. She did set aside pans with water and a blanket to smother the fire as a last resort.

All her preparation came to naught though as she had heard the door lock click just after turning on the stove. She'd briefly debated making the attempt anyways, but when she looked up and saw that Leoben had two Centurions with him as he bent to untie the tripwire, that's when she'd _known _the frakker had probably been watching her the whole time. Out of frustration, she'd thrown the makeshift dagger at him and watched as he'd slapped it aside with that smug smile of his firmly in place.

Since then, Kara had located the two cameras he had setup. If there were more, she certainly hadn't been able to find them in two weeks of searching. At least now she knew their blind spots. Since discovering that a portion of the sofa was out of their line of sight, she'd hidden a shard from a broken plate in the corner of the sofa cushion for future need.

At this point in her morning routine, Kara would usually start running stairs, jogging in place and intermixed with jumping jacks to get a cardio workout . But, turning her back on the camera, she stood with hands on hips and regarded the neat little domicile that had become her world over the past couple of weeks.

It had been after Leoben had the Centurions remove the mess she had gathered to start the fire, that Kara had finally relented enough to do the cleaning chores. It was better to have _something_ to do, even if it was just housework. She remembered how Leoben had wisely not said anything to her when he had returned again that evening and the place was straightened up. She'd stood by the window, refusing to acknowledge his greeting, just as she had the previous nights, only joining him at the table when the food was ready.

Having come to the conclusion that she wasn't going to be able to goad him with words, Kara had taken to ignoring his presence as best she could, refusing to answer any of his questions or be drawn into conversation when he'd finally worn out the topic of his visions. As a result, silence had become the standard between them and Leoben seemed content to eat and just watch her, only dropping an occasional comment.

From that point, each day became a dreary repeat of the prior; meals shared in relative silence; Leoben gone for most of the day while Kara tidied the place and started doing calisthenics to occupy her time and maintain her physical condition.

Now, at the end of a second week of confinement, Kara decided to skip the rest of her workout and went to shower instead. Standing beneath the warm spray, she prayed that Sam had recovered from the pneumonia and that everyone else was safe. She'd been careful never to mention Anders to Leoben, afraid that the Cylon male might come to see her husband as an obstacle to his plans—and take action to remedy it. As she rinsed her long hair, she wondered how much longer before Galactica and Pegasus returned to rescue them.

Knowing that all she had to do was hold out until then, Kara finished her shower and pulled on the blue robe Leoben had provided her. She slid a chair to the largest window and sat, staring skyward, searching the expanse for familiar shapes.


	5. Chapter 5 Slipping

Chapter 5 Slipping

Inaction and boredom.

Who would've thought they would be a form of torture perfectly designed to slowly drive her insane. After a full month locked away in the apartment with only a skin-job for company, Kara was sure it was a form of purgatory constructed just for her. Sure, she had spent time in hack. A lot of time, in fact. But never for more than a few days at a stretch. And she'd always known that she'd be released soon enough.

This waiting was different. Her belief that the battlestars—and the Adamas—would return for those left behind had been absolute during the first couple of weeks of her captivity. As the days started to blur into each other, her certainty began to waver. Had the fleet—and their protectors—been destroyed? Had the Admiral been killed?

Or Lee…

Kara's out-of-the-box thinking came from an active imagination; now that same strength was turned against her. She had far too much time to think of all the scenarios that could explain Pegasus and Galactica's continued absence, each more distressing than the last. Those thoughts inevitably brought her around to the commander of each battlestar.

Recalling all the times she'd frakked-up her relationship with Lee, Kara berated herself for the cowardice that landed her in this current situation. If she hadn't gone with the safe bet Sam represented, she would've been on the Pegasus with Lee when the Cylons returned.

Just one more screw-up to add to her long list of them.

Her isolation fed into her growing belief that the others were better off without her. After a month in captivity, she decided that Sam had obviously reached the same conclusion when no attempt was made to rescue her. The other possibility, that he was dead, she flatly refused to even acknowledge.

In the long hours alone each day spent staring out the window at the same gray sky and dark rooftops, Kara replayed her life. All the grim memories she had shoved aside of the childhood filled with physical and emotional abuse came back to her now in exquisitely painful detail. Her mother's hurtful words reached across the years to mesh with the consequences of Kara's actions; and all her frakked-up choices seemed to loop over and over within her mind. How many times through the years has she proved that her mother was right, that Kara was a quitter and a coward?

Too afraid to tell him the truth, her cowardice had killed Zak. Then the Old Man had been shot because she had run away to Caprica. As her thoughts turned to each of her relationships, examining them in minuet detail, she recalled every little mistake and failure on her part. It was no wonder Lee had turned away from her after his near-death experience with the Blackbird. She was a black hole that sucked everything down with her. By now he'd probably realized how lucky he'd been to escape the destruction she caused to those that got too near. He was better off with Dee. Miss Perfect would fit into his little 'rulebook world' so much better than either insubordinate Starbuck or cursed Kara ever could have.

And then there was Samuel T Anders.

Gods…she wasn't even _sure_ what she felt for him. His unconditional love soothed a place that only Zak had ever touched before. He was willing to accept her without pushing for more than she felt able to give. Yet, her feelings for him were conflicted by those she had for Lee. She _couldn't_ love two men at the same time; it was a sacrilege against the gods' gift. Still, she'd chosen Sam; made vows that bound them together for life.

Not that that had kept her from straying.

Over the past year, when thoughts of Lee grew to an ache she could no longer ignore, and one that she couldn't—_wouldn't_—satisfy with Sam, she'd find some nameless guy and frak him senseless while pretending it was Lee. Way she saw it, a meaningless frak was a lesser betrayal then being with her husband and pretending it was Lee.

It just went to prove that her mom and Lee were right; she was a whore. Which thought led her back to Leoben and what he wanted from her. Was she 'destined' to drop her pants for the Cylon next? He'd continued to proposition her every night, yet impassively continued to accept her refusals. His restraint should have eased her fears. Instead, each time it just tightened the coil of anxiety she pretended didn't exist until she released the tension with yet another attempt to slay him.

As she entered the second month of her captivity, Kara fell into a pattern of days filled with self-loathing contemplation, punctuated at least once a week by frantic anger that drove her to attack her Cylon captor, sometimes killing him, but usually not. Leoben had learned that if he could avoid her first strike, a short jab to the solar plexus would give him time to wrap his arms around her and hold on until she'd thrashed and cursed herself into exhaustion. Each time, once the rage had passed, Kara was filled with a listlessness that would last a couple of days before the restless anger began building again.

Kara knew she was losing herself…could feel the slippage of hope as despair cleaved it from her soul, another sliver pared away with each passing day. She also started losing time, coming to with a start as she realized that she'd sat so long in one position that her limbs had stiffened. At first she'd suspected that Leoben was drugging her. Yet it had still happened even when she'd purposely avoided consuming anything for over a day. It hadn't made a difference, and she'd found herself jerking to her feet as the click of the latch of the apartment's door had pulled her out of one such blackout. She had looked over at Leoben as he'd descended the staircase, confusion trailing across her expression as she tried to figure how most of an afternoon could have passed while she'd sat transfixed by the window.

Energy and motion were integral parts of who Starbuck was. And, even though she'd always held herself a little apart, she craved the friction of people around her, and had made damn sure that nobody ignored Starbuck. Not as they had the child Kara.

Yet, in the isolation and confinement of the small flat, that fire was siphoned away, and with it, her sense of self. The cocky Viper jock was all about passion and impulse. Denied both now, except for her frenzied attacks on Leoben, Kara was facing an internal dissolution she didn't know how to combat.

As the sixth week of the Occupation limped by with no outside contact, the part of her that had been sure of a quick rescue finally succumbed to the growing despondency.

Maybe, she mused, some day she'd come out of one of her fogs and the Admiral would be there to take her home. And, while the lapses of memory were chilling, the silence and stillness were a preferable change to the scathing voices of her past that had been flaying her mind in the weeks prior. So, as Kara listlessly marked a groove on the wall indicating the seventh week since the appearance of the Cylons, she let go of the concern that some how she'd 'lose' Starbuck. The vibrant insubordinate officer was a liability in her current situation, and Kara had learned long ago how to adapt to survive.

Her mother had seen to that.


	6. Chapter 6 Splintering

Chapter 6 Splintering

Kara's head jerked up from her knees and her eyes flicked around the room, confusion and fear seesawing her emotions as she sought to make sense of the scene before her.

Visible in the middle of the linoleum floor was a male corpse, face and upper torso pummeled nearly beyond recognition, yet undoubtedly Leoben. She realized that she was sitting pressed into the corner of the kitchen and couldn't pull forth any memory of how she had gotten there. There was no sign of anyone else, and the only sound was the slow drip from the faucet.

"What the—" she started to say, breaking off as she noticed the red smearing her bare feet. She was pretty sure the blood wasn't hers. Using the wall, Kara pushed herself unsteadily upright and closed her eyes again as a wave of vertigo swept over her. She bent forward and braced hands on shaking knees and tried to recall what had happened.

The last thing she remembered was washing the evening dishes. Her gaze snapped over and she saw that the sink was still half filled with water, the plate she had been washing lay shattered on the floor nearby. How much time had passed? She saw it was long enough for the soap bubbles to dissipate, leaving just the film of their presence on the water's surface.

Forcing herself to turn back to the bloody mess of Leoben's latest corpse, Kara shuddered and immediately whipped back around to the sink, stomach heaving as tomato-laced acid rose in her throat and she spewed the spaghetti she'd eaten for dinner into the stagnant water. A few more hurling heaves emptied the last of her meal and she leaned on shaking arms, gasping as sweat layered her forehead and upper lip.

Still spitting to clear her throat, she reached blindly for the faucet and turned it on to cup her hands beneath the cold flow. Splashing water onto her face, she washed away the sweat and rinsed her mouth. Once she was sure the worst of the nausea had passed, Kara thrust her hand into the fouled water and released the drain, then spent the next ten minutes vigorously scrubbing the sink and her hands clean, putting off the moment when she would to have to turn around again.

She set aside the dish cloth and leaned on her elbows, damp palms pressed to her eyelids, and tried to force the bloody image away. It wasn't like he was human. He wasn't real. _It_ wasn't real, just a frakkin' Toaster.

Nothing but fake blood.

Fake guts.

Fake man.

After another minute, she finally straightened and grabbed a dry dish towel, blotting at her damp face before reluctantly facing the gruesome remains again.

Unable to pull her gaze from the pulped upper torso and head of the male Cylon, her mind kept trying to understand how she could've done so much damage and have no memory of the attack, for Kara knew _she_ was the one that had mutilated him; her bloody footprints were the only ones present.

The last couple of weeks had seen an increase in the frequency and duration of the incidences when she had found herself suddenly aware that a space of time had passed and she had no memory of it. The blackouts were disconcerting; to abruptly look around and realize that she'd spent hours lost in some daydream she couldn't even remember.

Frak. She was going as crazy as Leoben.

Her attention was drawn back to the present when she looked down and was reminded that her bare feet were stained with dried blood. She had to get cleaned up. Do something about the…the…_thing_.

Keeping her eyes averted, Kara sidled around the body and retrieved a sheet from the cupboard. She covered the corpse and breathed a slight sigh now that it was hidden from view.

The previous times she had managed to kill Leoben, she'd left the clean up for his newest incarnation to take care of on its return. But this time, Kara felt compelled to wipe the kitchen clean—like her mind had been—though she determinedly avoided the draped form.

When the floor was clear of red, except for what seeped from beneath the pale cloth, Kara rinsed the dishrag in the sink and escaped into the bathroom. Beneath the shower spray, she tried to wash away the image of the smashed in face. Yet, no matter how hard she scrubbed, she only had to shut her eyes and it was imprinted on the lids. Shivering, she fumbled at the faucet and cranked the knob. Only as the temperature bordered on scalding and steam rose about her did she find her head clearing.

An hour later, dressed and in her usual seat facing out the corner window, Kara flinched as she heard the apartment door open. She kept her gaze locked on the horizon where the New Caprican sun was setting, its washed-out light descending into a darkness that mirrored Kara's own downward spiraling psyche.

No, she didn't regret killing the skin-job again, but the evident violence of her attack and subsequent blackout appalled her more than anything since her time at the Farm. For she knew she was losing her mind, losing the only thing she'd still been left some control over in this frakked-up dollhouse that she'd been boxed into. As her slippage into madness escalated, it just provided further proof of how defective she was.

_Guess momma was right again._

His calm voice coming from only a few feet behind her drew her attention, "Kara…_Kara, look at me,"_ he commanded and she reluctantly turned but refused to meet his eyes. There was a long moment of silence as she felt him studying her, then she saw him twist towards where his covered corpse lay. "It's ok, Kara. I know you didn't mean it."

_That_ brought her to her feet, eyes flashing as they locked with his now.

"I killed you. I killed you and I frakkin' _meant_ it! Input that into your crazy chromed skull," she rasped out, throat too constricted by conflicting emotions to allow her to shout at him like she was desperate to do. "Come near me and I'll frakkin' do it again!" she growled her warning.

"No. This," gesturing towards the draped from, "proves your sorry. It's ok. I understand," he said soothingly.

"I don't want your _understanding!_" Now she _was_ yelling. "You're crazy. A sicko Cylon that gets off on getting killed over and over." She turned away, hugging herself to keep from shaking as she fluctuated between rage and revulsion.

Feeling his breath on her hair, she stiffened. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the heat from his hands as he held them an inch from her bare shoulders.

"Accept this. What's between us. Stop hurting yourself like this," his murmur brushed her left ear.

"Frak you."

"Ok, Kara." She felt his presence withdrawal. His voice was receding as he said, "Come join me in bed. I'm better company than he is." It was then that she realized Leoben was going to leave his corpse on the kitchen floor overnight.

Resuming her seat by the window, she leaned her forehead on the cool glass and knew there would be no sleeping tonight with the mutilated body so near as a grim reminder. Her eyes sought the stars in the deepening night and she sent a prayer for rescue out into the expanse, hoping that either the Gods or the Galactica would heed her plea—while she was still sane enough to benefit from their intervention.


	7. Chapter 7  Status Change

Chapter 7 Status Change

Kara sat in the kitchen chair staring at Leoben's corpse, watching the slowly spreading pool of blood from the jagged neck wound. She put her hands in her hair and bent her head, taking slow breaths as she closed her eyes. At least this time she knew what had happened, what she'd done.

Opening her eyes and slouching back in the chair, she regarded her handiwork, trying to decide if it was worth the effort to remove and clean the pottery shard she'd used to open Leoben's juggler. The piece was from the plate she'd shattered during her first week in the apartment and kept hidden under the sofa cushion—until today.

The evening had begun like the previous ones with Leoben returning from whatever he did during his days. _As if the frakker had a real job or something._ But, then, while fixing dinner, he had started prattling on about the human settlement and the Occupational Government. Kara couldn't say what had triggered her to pull the improvised knife from its hiding spot, she only knew that when the Cylon had droned on and on about how _his people_ were working to improve life for the colonists, Kara had felt the twang of her coiled anger and had palmed the weapon. Moving to stand calmly before him, she'd raised her left hand and cupped his cheek, feeling the warm male flesh beneath her fingers. Leoben's eyes had softened as he'd raised his own hand to overlay hers. Then she'd struck. Shifting her hand from his stubbled cheek to the back of his neck, Kara had jerked him forward and into the shard as she thrust it upwards.

Even in _that_ moment he hadn't appeared angry, just startled and pained by her rejection. It hadn't been nearly as messy as the time she'd slit Simon's throat, but she had still taken a long time cleaning her hands and arms at the kitchen sink before settling down to await his return.

When the apartment door opened only a bare half an hour later, Kara looked up, surprised. It usually took him close to two hours to resurrect and return—or R&R as she sarcastically had dubbed it. She stiffened when she realized that the figure she saw on the foyer was female. She stood and had a moment of hope when she recognized the reporter, D'Anna Biers.

Kara recalled to the first time she'd met the woman as she and her cameraman had invaded the pilots' bunkroom. The reporter had almost gotten more of an exclusive than planned when Apollo's towel had slipped. Kara remembered trying not to smirk as she had enjoyed an unobscured view of Lee's _very_ nice ass.

She was jerked back from the memory as she recognized the tall blonde Cylon woman from Caprica enter just behind the reporter. As the two women descended the staircase, Kara realized that they obviously weren't here as part of a rescue attempt. Considering why they might be here, Kara supposed that the Cylons might want to use her for some propaganda piece, maybe showing how 'well' they treated their human prisoners. They could just frakkin' forget it. Let Gauis be their puppet to yank around.

She did wonder, though, what the Six had offered D'Anna to convince her to collaborate. Then Kara noticed that the reporter looked too relaxed—even pleased—as she stepped from the landing. Looking from the platinum-blonde to the sandy-haired reporter, Kara silently swore with grim understanding.

_Great. Another frakkin' skin-job._

Well, that explained _who_ she was, but not why she was here. Crossing her arms, Kara gave the pair her best Starbuck sneer, but didn't bother greeting them.

D'Anna stopped in the middle of the living room and cast an appreciative gaze around the apartment before moving over to Leoben's still form. She squatted beside the body, head tilting slightly as she regarded his neck with the shard still embedded at an angle.

"Looks like you were a tad rough on my brother, Starbuck," D'Anna said as she put her hands on her denim-clad knees and pushed upright again. "What's this, like the eighth or ninth time you've killed him? You a slow learner…or just like the color red?"

"He pissed me off," she replied, voice slightly hoarse from disuse, but matching the Cylon's mocking tone as she easily slipped Starbuck back in place like a protective cloak.

"Yeah, I've heard that about you. Short temper and all," said D'Anna as she stepped respectfully around the body to approach Kara. "Bit of a rogue with a reputation, huh?"

The eight weeks of near total muteness had left Kara with a strange reluctance to verbally spare with the skin-job. She just gave the Toaster a shrug and shifted her balance to the balls of her feet in preparation to move quickly in defense or attack.

The fake reporter didn't seem to share the same aversion to conversation. "The other models and I have voted. Decided to remove you from our brother's custody," she said. "Perhaps a change will motivate you to be more…_cooperative_." D'Anna glanced over at her sister model, and the tall Cylon moved to flank Starbuck. "I'd introduce you to Six here, but you've already met. The Delphi Museum on Caprica I believe it was." Leaning in slightly, "I kinda think she took your impaling her a little personal."

"So sorry," Starbuck's tone and smirk making the apology an insult.

The Six spoke for the first time. "A little lacking in sincerity. Perhaps with a few 'rehabilitation treatments' we can adjust that attitude of yours, Captain."

Giving another shrug, Starbuck's eyes surveyed the pair and judged that she could probably lay out one but the other would be on her before she ever made it to the staircase, not that she'd had much luck getting through the locked door in the past anyways.

Frak. Nowhere to run even if she tried and, while she might've stood a chance against one, two skin-jobs would wipe the floor with her. Nothing to do but go along with whatever game the pair was playing at and watch for an opening. Leoben had learned caution. She'd bet these two hadn't.

So, when D'Anna motioned for her to follow, Kara started forward without argument, disliking the feeling of the Six hovering just behind her but choosing to ignore her. She didn't bother going around Leoben's corpse, instead made a point of stepping on it as she moved to follow D'Anna.

"You just don't get it, Starbuck," the Six said so close to Kara's ear that she was sure they'd bump noses if she turned around. The Cylon woman continued, "Leoben believes you should be coaxed to follow your destiny. I have a different take on it, and soon you're going to wish you'd been nicer to my brother. Now move," Six said the last with a push to speed Kara's leisurely strides.

In the hallway, two Centurions waited.

_Right. Scratch that plan,_ Kara thought in frustration.

She had hoped that an opportunity for an escape would present itself once out of the apartment. But it looked like the Toasters weren't taking any chances of their own after all. Could just _possibly_ have something to do with the number of times she'd offed Leoben. She smiled briefly with grim satisfaction at their precautions. People might not like Starbuck, but they damned well didn't discount her, not even the Cylons.

D'Anna stopped at the head of a set of stairs and turned to Kara with an almost sympathetic expression. Not a very reassuring sight coming from a Cylon.

"Here's where I leave you to Six's tender mercies." The fake reporter stared at Kara for a moment before giving a shake of her head. "I know you won't listen, but things'll go easier for you if you just cooperate. You're ours now, Starbuck, and the sooner you accept that, the fewer _lessons_ my sister will have to give you."

"Treatments. Lessons. Visions. Are Cylons just _naturally_ full of shit?" Starbuck scoffed as she put her hands on her hips.

The corners of D'Anna's lips curled up. "Just can't help yourself, huh?" Another headshake. "I'll be by to visit once you've had some time to rethink your attitude." Giving her sister a nod, "She's all your." D'Anna turned and walked away as Six shoved Kara to descend the staircase.


	8. Chapter 8  New Accommodations

Chapter 8 New Accommodations

Six led the way down a second set of stairs that descended deeper into the bowels of the newest section of the detention center with Starbuck, now held securely between the two Centurion guards, reluctantly following. A chill raised goosebumps along her arms, and Kara tried to convince herself that it was only due to the cooler temperatures in this lower section and not fear at whatever "rehabilitation treatments' the skin-job had hinted at. She tried to convince herself that anything was better than the slow abyss she'd been sliding towards for weeks now, but as their little procession halted in front of a steel door and the guards released their hold, she shivered again—with apprehension this time.

The blonde skin-job set her palm on a flickering square on the wall and the door swung inward on silent hinges. Seeing what lay inside, Kara conceded that the apartment might not have been such a bad setup after all. Locking her knees, she held her place in the doorway as Cylon woman strode before her into the cell.

The Six turned, and on seeing Kara hesitate, gave a nod and Kara felt a metal palm on her back, then she was shoved, stumbling, across the threshold into the ten-by-ten concrete room. Catching her balance, she debated whether now was the best time to challenge the skin-job, but after darting a quick glance over her shoulder at the silent Centurions, decided to bide her time until the odds were a bit better. Instead, she surveyed what little there was of the room. The bare concrete floor, walls and ceiling deepened the chill within the cell. A spigot was set into the wall in the corner and a bucket occupied another. The ambiance of the room wasn't lightened by the naked bulb, offset from the center of the ceiling, and the hook which dangled directly above a drain in the floor.

_And I thought the other cell was bad. At least it had a real toilet_.

Turning her eyes to meet the Six's measuring regard, she quipped, "I want an upgrade. Maybe a suite with a Jacuzzi." Determined not to let the skin-job see her growing dismay, she gave a sweep of her hand indicating the room, "Last time I book through a Toaster travel agency."

"Sorry your new accommodations aren't up to your demanding standard," Six said, and then gave a wave to one of the guards. "Perhaps you'll like the accessories. But first…I think you're a little overdressed for today's activities."

The Cylon woman sidled forward into Kara's personal space, pausing as if waiting for a reaction. When Starbuck just returned her glare, Six grasped the hems of Kara's double tanks and lifted. Biting down on the impulse to punch her, Kara let the skin-job pull her tops off and toss the garments to the side, leaving her clad in only the black sports bra and cargo pants. As the taller blonde stepped back, Kara let her held breath out slowly, relieved that the Cylon appeared satisfied with just stripping her of her shirts.

"Much better."

The skin-job gave a signal and Kara heard the stomp of a Centurion behind her. Metal fingers clamped on her bare arm, twisting her around to face the chrome-job; she swallowed as a set of shackles were locked around her wrists with a snap. The thick wristcuffs were spanned by a length of chain that looked impervious to any attempt she might make to break loose.

"Up," commanded Six and Kara's arms were hauled above her head and she was lifted as the Centurion secured the center link of the chain to the hook in ceiling.

Grimly feeling the stretch in her shoulders and arms from the unnatural position, Kara was thankful she was still able to touch the floor, even if only on the balls of her feet.

_Ok, this is a damn sight worse than Leoben's sermons._

Her breath quickened in anticipation of what was obviously going to be a _really_ unpleasant rehab session—lesson—or whatever the frakkers wanted to call it. Starbuck knew how this worked. It all came down to pain…and how much she could endure.

_Ok, not gonna be so much fun. Just keep focused, Thrace. Pain's pain, and this bitch isn't even family._

As she drew into herself emotionally, Kara stirred the furnace of her fear into flames of anger, then glanced up, eyes narrowing on the chain above her head. Maybe she could get in a preemptive strike or two before the skin-job got her shot.

After dismissing the guards and shutting the cell door, the Six swiveled around on her high heels and gave Kara a brief up and down look, a smirk filled with contempt emphasizing her enjoyment of the situation.

Putting on her best Triad face to hide her intentions, Starbuck's eyes stayed locked on the Cylon female sauntering towards her. _That's right Toaster trash, just a little closer,_ she mentally urged. _That's it. Just another step..._

Grasping her opportunity—and the chain above her hands—she swung her legs up and locked her knees around the skin-job's neck. As the tall blonde's eyes widened, Starbuck wrenched violently to the side. Through her calf muscles, she felt the snap of vertebra, and then the Six became literal dead weight. Kara let the body drop to the floor at her feet.

"Well…_that was fun... _Guess I'll just hang around until she gets back," she said to the empty room, wishing she had an audience to play to. Then again, the idea of anyone being stuck in this hellhole with her quickly wiped away the gallows humor. She suddenly wondered what Helo was doing right then, and fervently hoped it was devising some plan to stage a whopping big rescue. Lords she missed his goofy lollipop-stuffed grin. What she wouldn't give to see him come through that door about now. She'd even be willing to stop giving him a hard time for falling for a Toaster.

Speaking of which…

With a bare toe Starbuck nudged the Six's pale corpse and idly wondered if Centurions understood jokes. Imaging one of the metal Toasters laughing sent a shudder down her spine, and the motion drew her attention to her arms and she looked up, noticing that her wrists were trickling red where the shackles had scraped the skin in her exertions.

She looked down at the body again, contemplating possibilities. Worth a try, she decided. By stretching she was able to hook a heel into the Cylon's armpit and roll the woman closer. A few grunts and curses later and she had the skin-job positioned where she could cautiously step up onto its chest. The additional height took more of the strain off Kara's shoulders.

That in itself was reward enough for the effort.

Through narrowed eyes, she surveyed the hook and chain that held her in place. _If I can just…_ She reached upward, trying to use the slack in the chain to flick it off the hook. Losing her balance on the second attempt, she slipped off her improvised stepstool and pain shot down her arms at the unexpected jolt.

_"Frak,"_ she cursed as she gave the chain an angry rattle. Several deep breaths later and she was back up and trying again. This time it came free on the second go and Kara stumbled forward, catching her balance against the cell wall.

Success gave her a brief rush but, as she looked about her, she realized she didn't know what to do next. A quick search of the Cylon's clothes revealed nothing useful—such as a key.

Moving to the cell door, Kara gave it a half-hearted push then shrugged. Nope, not gonna budge. Not that she'd actually thought it would. Surveying it closer, she saw that the hinges were on the outside so no chance to work them loose. That just left the rectangle beside the door that matched the one Six had palmed earlier; she tentatively reached out and touched the pad with an index finger, half expecting to get zapped. When nothing happened, she shrugged again and pressed her hand flat, feeling the warmth of the surface, but nothing happened.

A few minutes—and curses—later, Kara had the Cylon's body propped up and she pressed the limp hand against the panel. The door remained stubbornly locked. Giving a disgusted snort, she let her burden drop to the floor and turned away. It was obvious that the Cylons had put more thought into their security procedures than the humans that had built the original section of the detention center.

After getting a drink from the spigot in the corner and rinsing the blood from her wrists, Starbuck settled with her back to the wall, facing the door, and waited for company to arrive.


	9. Chapter 9  Plan A

Chapter 9 Plan A

Heavy treads warned her of the return of her captors. Starbuck stood and leaned her shoulder on the wall with one bare foot crossed to present a posed stance of bored relaxation. A Centurion tramped through the door first, closely followed by a Six. This one wore a full body suit of black denim and black boots, and her expression was thunderous as she strode up to Kara and backhanded her, the force of the blow sending her sprawling.

Shaking her head to clear it, Starbuck looked up as the Cylon loomed over her, rage tautening the classic beauty's face into a caricature. One of the black boots swiftly shot out, catching Kara along her right side and she felt the crack of several ribs as pain lanced through her. A second kick buried itself in her gut and she tried to curl up, protecting her vulnerable mid-section as she fought for air.

Cold appendages dragged her upright and she was suspended again from the hook. This time the Centurion shortened the chain between her cuffs by threading the hook through several links instead of just the one in the center. As a result, she now swayed some inches from the floor, her entire body weight supported by only her arms and wrists.

It was a damned sight more painful than before.

As the Centurion stepped away and the Six moved in again, Starbuck tried swinging her right leg up in a roundhouse kick at the tall blonde, only to have a forearm hammer her knee aside. Silently cursing herself for the ill-advised move, Starbuck ground her teeth together to keep the moan from slipping out as agony raced outwards from her weakened joint.

"You really think you can fight me, little girl?" the Cylon woman spoke for the first time since entering the cell in her new incarnation. She drove a fist into Kara's exposed belly, then quickly followed with two additional blows to the ribcage, causing the strung-up prisoner to swing back from the force.

Trying to drag air into her abused chest, Starbuck finally managed breath enough and spit at her enemy, knowing too well she was just storing up more punishment for herself. The skin-job recoiled in disgust, surprise suffusing her face as she reached up with the back of her hand and wiped away the spittle.

"Leoben told me you were stubborn. He forgot to say you've a death wish as well," said Six when she found her voice again. "If you didn't have one before, Starbuck, you certainly will before I'm through with you." Another backhand spun Kara's head to the side, and the fist coming on a reciprocal course jarred her back the other way.

Blinking to focus, she could feel blood dripping from her cut lip and forced her aching jaw and mouth into a mocking smile. "You hit like a frakkin' girl. My mom had more steel to her than you. What are you, like, Cylon-lite or something?" she taunted the skin-job as she licked the coppery moisture from her swollen lip.

A straight jab to the nose rocked her head back this time and, as she tilted forward again, blood streamed from both nostrils down onto her chest and sports bra and her eyes watered. Pulling forth her ever-ready smirk, she carefully enunciated through her bloody mouth, "Second rate knockoff," and earned a clout alongside the temple. Her head lulled onto her chest while she fought the ringing in her ears. When she looked up again, it was to find that the Six had taken a step back and was regarding her with a frown.

"You think you're controlling this encounter, Starbuck? Goading me on. Is that it?" The anger drained from the sultry voice, instead, she sounded vaguely amused. The tall blonde narrowed her eyes and said, "You actually want me to beat you senseless. Hard to answer questions with a broken jaw, huh, Captain?"

_Frak. Almost worked, too_, Starbuck thought to herself as she ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek where it had been mashed against her teeth.

_Ok, time for plan B… _

_Wish I had a frakkin' plan B._

She hadn't given much thought to other options, having been sure she could get the Toaster enraged enough to keep conversation to a minimum. Pissing people off was a Starbuck specialty, after all. Giving a mental grimace, she cast her eyes around the room, looking for inspiration, but looked back as the Six stepped forward again.

"Now that we've dispensed with the small talk, Captain. Let's just get down to the Q&A part of this little interrogation, shall we?" The Cylon woman's good humor seemed to have come out at thwarting Kara's attempt at evasion. "Let's start with a simple one. Where's the fleet?"

"Right, like I'd know," scoffed Starbuck.

"Ok, I'll give you that one," Six said as she crossed her arms and reconsidered her line of questioning. "So you don't know where the fleet's currently hiding, but you _can_ tell me about the contingency plans Admiral Adama had in place in the event of the our arrival."

"Can. Won't. So, frak-off," Starbuck said, going for a bored look as she rolled her eyes. On second thought, she wondered if she should have tried playing up the dumb Viper jock angle instead?

"Oh, I think you will," the Six contradicted. Her expression turned malicious as she continued, "When I'm not trying to 'beat someone senseless', I know a few techniques to induce pain while keeping permanent damage to a minimum."

And over the next hour, the Six proceeded to demonstrate those techniques.

She'd started out simple; open-handed slaps that were startling painful on bare skin, especially when they struck the already purpling areas along Kara's right side.

When that failed to elicit anything beyond winces and a taunting yawn from Starbuck, the Cylon switched to nailing pressure points. By jamming and pinching nerve bundles at strategic junctures, she had Kara jerking and struggling to twist away from the torment.

Yet, even those techniques drew forth only grunts as Kara kept her teeth clamped on her lower lip, causing more blood to dribble down her chin and splatter as scarlet droplets on the concrete below her dangling feet.

As the Cylon woman again took a step back, frustration thinning her lips, Kara let her eyes fall shut, head lulling forward in exhaustion and thankful for the temporary reprieve. Her arms were cramping and everything ached from the abuse. She opened her eyes and blinked away the sweat as she fought to keep herself focused. Trouble was, it was getting more and more difficult.

Taking shallow breaths to avoid straining her damaged ribs, Kara considered her options, to stay silent or starting lying now. As best as she was able, she was already compartmentalizing the pain, sliding panes into place to separate herself from the worst of it, a useful trick she'd learned as a child.

The only offensive weapon she now had in this contest was her ability to turn fear into anger. That was the other _gift_ her mom had given her. Maybe Socrates Thrace had seen this day coming after all. Well, Kara had paid in blood for her coping skills; it was time to employ them to the fullest.

To hell with plan B.

"What? Tired already," she taunted the Cylon woman, lifting her chin from her chest and _winking_ at the glowering blonde. "Got no staying power… Maybe need a new battery, huh?" Another knowing wink, "Bet you could get a jump from one of your Centurion friends." She saw the flush stain the pale female's complexion and smothered a satisfied grin.

_Oh, yeah. I'm really good at pissing people off. Even the manufactured variety._

"Leoben—hell, even Simon's—scarier than you." Seeing the Cylon's nostrils flare, Starbuck continued to push. "I bested you in the Delphi museum; smacked you good in the Farm. Hell, even strung up, I _owned_ you, bitch."

_Yup, that did it._

Six obviously forgot about her earlier resolution as her face filled with wrath and swiftly she closed on Starbuck, striking out to wipe her smirk away. The knuckles smacked high on Kara's cheekbone, but the crack and flaring pain just added tinder to her anger and she laughed—_laughed_—in the skin-job's face.

The Six lost all control then. Blows pummeled Kara's helpless torso and head. until darkness finally shuttered her world closed.

[ I I I I I ]

Consciousness came back slowly.

Abused muscles and flesh flickered their messages of pain to her sluggish brain. Blinking her eyes, Kara's concussed mind took awhile to process that the grey surface in front of her nose was the concrete floor of her cell. A shiver goosebumped her arms and she clamped teeth together to prevent them from chattering. The chill of the floor had transfused to her skin except where bruised and reddened flesh throbbed with heat.

Sliding a heavy arm forward, she pushed onto her side, her wavering gaze searching the cell for enemies. She was alone. She closed her eyes as the movement woke her to the damage all along her right side. Carefully taking shallow breaths, she felt the pain stir her stomach with bile. The thought of what vomiting would do to her side gave Kara enough motivation to fight the nausea back down. Once sure she had the urge under control, she opened her eyes again and tried to concentrate.

There was something she needed…

Turning her head slightly, she spotted a bundle by the wall. Her tanks. Only then did she realize that she was still topless except for the sports bra.

_Cold…right…do something bout that._

Cautiously shifting, using her arms rather than stomach muscles, Kara levered herself over onto hands and knees, the pressure on her right knee reminding her of the new damage on that front. Debating between crawling the short distance or struggling to her feet, crawling won out, not trusting that she'd be able to stay upright. Sliding forward, keeping as much weight off her re-injured knee as possible, she crossed to the garments. Kara pulled the grey tank over her head and maneuvered her aching arms into the proper holes, feeling a few degrees warmer even as the cotton material chaffed her tender skin. She slid the couple of feet to the corner spigot and, after wetting the darker shirt, worked at the dried blood on her face and wrists. She cupped a few mouthfuls of water to quench her thirst before rewetting the shirt. With a moan, she settled back and leaned her head to rest against the wall as she held the damp material to her swollen cheek and lip.

Plan A sucked. It worked…but it still sucked.

Sitting alone in the stark cell, she was resigned that the next hours were going to be just as crappily painful as she'd thought. Nothing to do but nurse her bruises and wait for the next visit.

And she was sure that there'd be a next.

Then another after that…and so on.

What she wasn't sure of now, was her ability to drive the Cylon into another rage. She'd barely succeeded this time. No. If they sent the same Six again, she'd best have a Plan B ready this time.

_Plan B, C, D. Frak…what came after D._

"Right E," she mumbled, then giggled and instantly regretted it. Putting a hand to her batter ribs, Kara realized that it was the concussion making her loopy.

_Nothing for to do it. Nothing to do—frak, _she cursed silently as her thoughts refused to focus.

Kara shifted, trying to ease her side a little, but then her knee protested, drawing her attention to yet another concern. If she'd torn it up a third time… Shying away from finishing the thought, she instead carefully hitched up her pant leg to expose the offending joint. Definitely swelling. Some good news, though. It didn't look or feel as bad as it had that time on the moon. Wrapping the still damp tank tightly around the knee, she hoped the compression and cold would bring down the swelling. It was really all she could do for the present.

The pounding in her head and weariness of her body were sapping the last of her strength and she sagged back against the concrete surface and let her chin sink to her chest, eyes drooping closed.

Suppose to stay awake…

Too much effort, though, she decided as she drifted away again.

[ I I I I I ]

Waking again some hours later, Kara started to stretch and clamped her teeth shut as the incautious move stoked the embers of pain in her right side. Forcing herself to unclench her jaw, she took shallow breaths and waited for the flaring agony to subside again.

The call of nature forced her to struggle to unsteady feet and make use of the fine indoor plumbing the Cylons had provided her in the form of the bucket in the corner. _Least I'm not peeing blood_, she thankfully thought, hoping that meant there wasn't any internal damage from the Six using her as a personal stress reliever.

Slumping back down by the spigot, she slowly drank her fill, then settled back to take inventory. Her cheek and jaw had that deep ache she'd learned to identify with a fracture. Guess she could be thankful the bitch hadn't actually broken the jaw, though it felt like she'd come close. Both arms were incredibly stiff, and the muscles along her shoulders kept trying to cramp. It was damned near impossible to rub at one without the other knotting up. But even that was merely uncomfortable compared to the radiating pain of her battered torso. Three, maybe four ribs this time, Kara decided. Nothing she hadn't dealt with before. But, it was gonna be frakkin' painful breathing for the next week or so.

She had put off checking her knee until last. Her stiff fingers fumbled at the nearly dry tank top as she unwrapped it to reveal the bruised joint. Carefully probing, she was relieved that the knee was tender, but not too bad. Most of the swelling had even subsided.

Pushing to her feet again, she slowly worked the black tank over her head, figuring it was dry enough to wear over the grey one. As her stomach rumbled a reminder that it had been at least a day since she'd last eaten, Kara decided to try some stretching exercise to loosen her restricted muscles and take her mind off her empty belly.

Cautiously swinging her outstretched arms in circles, Kara remembered one particular morning on Galactica back before her trip to Caprica. She had been the first to wake for a change and had gone to drag Lee from his rack for their morning run, only to find him decidedly unreceptive to the idea. As she'd tugged the privacy curtain aside, he'd moaned, rolling over to blink bloodshot eyes at her.

"Frak, Lee, you go out drinking last night without me?" she'd mocked, but had been secretly worried at his appearance.

"My back," he mumbled, not fully awake yet, grunting again as he shifted. "Must a wrenched it yesterday."

"Turn over," she said. Then, nudging his hip, "Come on, move it, Apollo," she ordered. As he cautiously rolled onto his stomach, Kara had settled onto the narrow bunk beside him.

For the first minute, Kara had just let herself enjoy the illicit feel of Lee's skin as she gently ran her hands up and down his warm back. Then she had started kneading at the tense muscles, feeling them slowly ease beneath her probing fingertips as she worked her way down his spine. He'd groaned, half in pain, half from pleasure at her ministrations. Finding a knot, she had leaned her weight into it and circled her thumbs until the reluctant muscle had finally unclenched. Her hands had traveled lower then, and again Kara had admired the well-sculpted physique until Lee had turned his head and their eyes met. The intensity of their connection had scared her, and Kara had abruptly stood, flashing him a discordant grin and told him to haul his ass out of the rack or he'd be late for their morning briefing.

Remembering how she'd fled from his confused look that long ago day, Kara now let her aching arms fall to her side and dropped her chin to her chest. Lords, she was so weak. Letting him see her desire at that moment had caused a subtle change in their relationship. From that point on, each touch, no matter _how_ innocent, charged the air between them and Kara had found herself wanting more. She'd known then that there couldn't be—couldn't _allowed_ to be—anything between them, but that hadn't stopped her from wanting it.

Shaking her arms, she tried to shake away the memory of his skin, too. Forcing herself to move, she limped slowly around the small cell, again doing cautiously arm circles, first forward then reversing, until she halted with a curse as a charlie-horse rode up the muscles along her right shoulder. She leaned against the wall and attempted to stretch out the rebellious knot. What she wouldn't give right now to be back on Galactica with Lee returning the favor.

Angry tears stung her eyes and Kara blinked them back. Where the frak was Galactica anyways? Going on two months now and nothing. Swallowing back her fears, refusing to believe that she had been abandoned, she restarted her slow circuit of the cell.

They were coming back. It was her job to hold out. And she was going to do her frakkin' job.


	10. Chapter 10  Lessions & Sessions

Chapter 10 Lessons & Sessions

As the first days of her tutelage under the Six dragged by, Starbuck's world telescoped into surviving the 'educational experiences' the Six subjected her to. The hours suspended from the hook blurred with those spent curled around herself, trying to shutter away the building abuse. Her side was a constant agony now and breathing was getting more difficult with each successive session. Sleep was snatched in exhausted short stints as she drifted in and out on waves of pain. Food, or the slop served in its place, was slid through a slot in the bottom of the door once a day she thought.

Whenever she was physically capable, Starbuck forced herself to move and stretch, trying to keep ready for any opportunity to escape. At other times, to distract herself from the grinding pain, Kara worked on her 'wish list', something she and Helo had come up with one night during a Triad game.

It had originally started out with Helo bemoaning the last of his stash of suckers. Next thing, she and the others were listing off what food each would wish for if given one choice. She'd learned a few interesting things about her fellow pilots that night. Like, that Hotdog's favorite food didn't come from a concession stand, but was this tastebud-searing curry dish his grandmother use to stir up once a month until her death when he was sixteen. And Kat's favorite food was ice cream, chocolate mint, and she'd always wanted to open an ice cream shoppe since her first experience in one as a seven year old. The petite pilot had rambled on and on about all the different flavors and how the place had had some thirty-two total, boasting it had more than any others.

Sitting awkwardly propped against the cell wall, Kara felt a smile slide between the slats of pain squeezing her chest and flow up. She remembered mocking the younger pilot for days afterwards, suggesting different revolting flavors such as chili and cheddar, or blue cheese. Kat had been pissed. Kara's smile flickered brighter at the memory of the other woman's disgusted looks.

The wish game that night hadn't end on an up note, though.

After a few more rounds that got progressively more ridiculous, Duck had quietly said that he wished that he could be a dad so he could teach his kid how to swim just like _his_ father had. Up until then, everyone had been talking about things they missed. Missing a future none of them were likely to ever have brought down the true weight of all they'd lost, crushing the mood, and the game had quickly broken up after that.

The memory turned bittersweet now as Kara wondered if she'd ever see any of her crewmates and friends again. Shoving the doubt aside, she focused again on composing her own 'wish list', making a point to consider every detail of each item. It wasn't enough to wish for pizza. It had to be an extra large one; thick crusted, sloppy with sauce and layered heavily with ham and pineapple. She didn't actually _like_ pineapple, just the tangy juice flavor. She remembered late night dinners shared with Zak and how he'd been the target more than once of flying chunks of fruit as she'd deftly flicked them off with her finger.

Forcing her thoughts to count exactly how many pieces of meat it would take to entirely cover her mental meal, Kara endured through the next few minutes, then the ones that came after that, then the next...

She tried to keep track of time's passage in her constantly lit cell by the delivery of her daily meal and the lessening of the pain of wounds between each session, but it was getting successively more difficult as her existence narrowed to just enduring the next increment of present time.

When the pain from her ribs became too much to be distracted from, Kara focused on the satisfaction of the Cylon woman's growing frustration at her defiance. She had thought that the Six wouldn't let herself respond to any more goading, but it seemed to be the opposite case. The more time they spent together, the less control the skin-job seemed to have over her reactions to Starbuck's taunts. The Six obviously hadn't expected her to be so hard to break, but her tormentor's chagrin was unfortunately marked by her increasing brutality with each progressive visit.

While choking down 'dinner' on what she thought was her fourth in the cell, a bemused revelation came to Kara; since being locked in the cell, she hadn't had any more 'lost' hours. It was a mixed blessing, though, as she shoved the empty bowl aside and painfully shifted, trying to find a portion of anatomy to lay on that wasn't either bruised or bleeding. A nice blackout would've been welcomed about now. As she sought to fade back into the temporary refuge of sleep, the mocking voice of her mother whispered to her, reminding her that it was cowardice that had landed her in this mess in the first place, and Kara wished she could go back to the empty silence in her head.

Even if it _did_ mean she'd lost her mind.


	11. Chapter 11 Warnings

Chapter 11 Warnings

The Cylon known as D'Anna knelt beside the unconscious prisoner and rolled her carefully onto her back. She took a moment to survey the fresh damage done to the human, noting the eye swollen shut, bloody lips and the extensive bruising that covered the woman's torso and face. She grimaced as she rose to confront her sister.

"We want Starbuck _alive_, and well enough to appear in public. You seem to have forgotten that, Six," D'Anna stated, her voice delivering the statement in silky-smooth tones that did nothing to conceal the reprimand. She observed with satisfaction the way Six's eyes widened in apprehension.

_Good, she's not forgotten that I can yank her in a snap from this position and stick her in a less…arduous one._

"You said you want her broken," Six said, her tone nearly a sulk. "That's what I'm doing. It's not my fault she both stubborn and stupid."

"Break her spirit, yes. In fact, I want it crushed. But don't kill, maim or mar her." D'Anna looked again at the woman at her feet. "Captain Thrace is going to be our spokesperson. Once she's suitably agreeable, I'll arrange a little news conference. At which, our good friend Starbuck will denounce the Insurgency and promote peaceful cooperation with the Occupational Government."

As D'Anna slowly walked around her subject, a smirk raised the corners of her mouth as she further explained her plan for the ex-pilot. "Starbuck's reputation with the Colonials will work two-fold for us; we'll use her to convince the sheep to follow her lead, and as for those who know she would never willing speak for us…well, they'll know that we _broke _her. And that, my sister, will be a mortal blow to this puny Resistance of theirs."

"How am I suppose to do my job if you won't let me properly interrogate her?" complained Six, obviously bitter that D'Anna dared give orders, yet knowing that her older sister had the other models on her side.

"Avoid internal injuries. Don't permanently mar her face. Be inventive," D'Anna said, and then sighed at the perplexed look on the tall blonde's face.

She had been the one to first notice the pleasure this particular Six seemed to get by inflicting pain. It had seemed a perfect fit to put her in charge of prisoner interrogation. Now though, as she studied her sister Cylon, she wondered if Six might be missing a few emotional components…and maybe had several screws loose, too.

"I still don't see what's so special about _this _human?" Six said, scorn twisting her beauty into an ugly parody as she glared down at her victim. "Surely there are others as suitable?"

"Not like Starbuck. Everyone in their fleet knows of the _legendary_ Starbuck. The best of the best. Besides that, Leoben claims that Kara Thrace has a _special destiny, _one that she must be encouraged to fulfill, which brings us back to your methods. Ask our dear brother about options to use if you must. He knows her and he's rather…put out with her at the moment since she refused his advances." Then the Three's voice dropped menacingly low as she warned Six again, "Don't go against me on this, sister. If Starbuck is _unusable_, your future will be as…_uncertain_."


	12. Chapter 12 Disassembled

Chapter 12 Disassembled

The Eight model once known by the callsign 'Boomer' put a hand over her mouth to hold back the gasp as she took in Starbuck's battered body.

During the first weeks of the Occupation, Sharon had carefully avoided the general human population, not wanting to risk running into anyone she might know from her former life. As the colonists' initial fear lapsed into sullen unrest and a human Resistance movement began striking at the Cylons' newly built installations, the ex-Raptor pilot had grown frustrated that the refugees weren't even _trying_ to give peace a chance. She, Caprica and Leoben had worked so hard at convincing the other models that co-existence was possible, and now the building insurgency was threatening that shaky truce.

Then yesterday she had overheard a Six and Three discussing the detainees. Starbuck's name had caught her attention, and Sharon had managed to get close enough to listen in on the heated discussion. She quickly realized that they were arguing over the methods being used on the Colonial officer. The Six was defending one of her model that was in charge of Kara's interrogation. The Three, D'Anna, was impatiently explaining that their sister was letting Starbuck get to her on a personal level and losing her objectivity, and that the repeated beatings of the prisoner were risking all of D'Anna plans.

Sharon had edged out of sight when the pair turned in her direction, but she'd overheard enough. She had hurried to the nearest bathroom and been violently ill, visions of what the Cylon probably had been doing to her friend causing her to heave until her stomach ached. Splashing water on her flushed face, Sharon had looked up at her reflection. Brown eyes darkened as she reminded herself that _she_ was a Cylon—and had no friends among the humans any more.

Knowing that she should just forget what she'd heard, Sharon had tried to keep busy for the rest of the day. Yet, as she closed her eyes that night, memories of shared laughter around a Triad table with the intense blonde pilot fed the guilt she had been trying to bury since accepting her place among her fellow Cylons.

Now, standing in the rank-smelling cell, guilt and disgust twisted her features as she stared at the beaten woman at her feet. Kara, torso bare save for the sports bra, was a canvas of colors. Bruises in various states of healing were painted across her skin…and then there was her back.

Fighting down the nausea, Sharon forced herself to look at the raised welts that pinked the pale skin from neck to hipline. There was no blood, but whatever had been used had also left two rough-hued streaks of abraded skin from Kara's right clavicle to the opposite floating rib. It didn't take but a moment to see what D'Anna meant, Starbuck looked like she'd been worked over by a mob, and from the sounds of her raspy breathing, there was the possibility of internal damage, too.

As Sharon dropped to her knees beside the still form, bereavement tightened her chest. She reached out a tentative hand and gently brushed aside the dirty hair to reveal a face soaked in despair. Casting her gaze up and down the all too human body before her, she felt tears dampen her own face at the travesty that had been done to her fiery friend; it looked like her brothers and sisters had finally succeeded in breaking Kara Thrace.

"Frak, what've they done to you?" she said without thought to her words, everything inside decrying the sight before her.

The wet eyelashes twitched, then slowly blinked open to stare bewilderedly up at Sharon. Boomer felt her chest clench tighter at the confirmation of her friend's defeat. The green eyes, usually so vibrant with defiance or devilment, were sunken cavities of suffering now.

Sharon closed her eyes and fought the swirling emotions that demanded she run from the cell to either demand Kara's immediate release or flee to the basestar and pretend she'd never even gone to the prison in the first place. She knew that neither option had much chance of success. The other models weren't likely to listen to her, a single Eight they already viewed as compromised by the humans, they'd just brush her protests aside as foolish sentimentality. And as for hiding away…it was far too late to unsee Kara's pain. Sharon faced her limited options as she stared down again at the blonde. It didn't matter what Kara felt, _Sharon's_ memories insisted that this was her friend in need of help.

"Frak it, Starbuck, you can't just give up," she hoarsely whispered, having to swallow repeatedly to force even those few words past the constriction in her throat.

She saw Kara lick cracked lips before her low voice murmured, "Why not?"

Why not? Why should she continue resisting when it obviously cost her so much? What right did Sharon have to demand that she prolong her suffering? Feeling angry sobs threatening, she ground her teeth and dug her fingernails into her palms. They were all so frakked! This wasn't what she wanted when she'd convinced the others to occupy instead of destroy the colony on New Caprica. Her Cylon brothers and sisters claimed they were outraged over the treatment of Gina aboard Pegasus, yet they thought nothing of doing similar to their own prisoners. Just how were Cylons superior to their creators when they seemed so determined to copy the worst traits of the human race?

Sharon had no answers for any of those questions. She was just another cog caught up in the wheel of this cycle of things. Either she did her part or got crushed beneath the weight of events she had no control over.

"I don't know, Kara," she gently said. "You just can't. Can't give up." The words were hollow of reason yet heartfelt. Sharon dug into her pants pocket and pulled out four white tablets. They were all she had to offer. She held up a pill and said, "This can ease the pain. I wish… _Frak!_" she choked to a stop, clamping her hand around her tiny bit of penance, took a breath then forced herself to continue, "I-I just wish I could do more."

As Starbuck shifted onto her side, Sharon heard the pained moan that she couldn't completely suppress when she moved. The green eyes moved from the tablet Sharon was once again holding out, up to meet her gaze. Her eyes were still filled with despair, but now there was a slight edge of desperate hope shading them with gold flecks.

"Kill me," Kara said, her tone smudged with conflicting needs.

Sharon jerked back as if struck. "Starbuck, you can't…I-I-I just—," she protested, breaking off as she saw her friend's barely held composure splinter.

"Just shoot—"

As Sharon abruptly stood, Kara broke off and her eyes closed briefly before opening again and seeking Sharon's. "Boomer, please…" the plea this time lay Kara's savaged spirit open to her one-time friend.

"Look… I can't. They'll box me, and I…I'm sorry, Kara, but I can't," Sharon said, fear and shame twisting her face into a grimace. Then her lips thinned as anger rose within her. She hadn't asked to be a Cylon. Damn it, she hadn't asked for _any_ of this.

_This wasn't her fault!_

She abruptly stood and strode to the door, about to put her hand on the sensor pad when she remembered the pills she still grasped in her palm. Turning her hand over, she opened it and stared down at the white tablets. Sharon's other hand stole down to the sidearm at her hip and she shut her eyes as her hands closed about each of the objects. Allegiances and friendships. Needs and demands. Hope and despair. They all vied for a soul she wasn't even sure she possessed.

Spinning on her heel, Sharon returned to kneel again by Kara, forcing one of the pills into her hand and closing it around the small succor. She shoved the other three into the front pocket of Starbuck's cargo pants. Refusing to meet the green eyes again, the woman once known as Boomer turned her back and walked away.


	13. Chapter 13 Shutters

Chapter 13 Shutters

Her tongue felt like someone had coated it with baking soda. And her eyes were gritty enough that they may have been sprinkled with it, too. Kara tried to work up some saliva and swallowed with difficulty, then managed to pry her lids open enough to squint about her, feeling that there was something important she'd missed.

As she tried to push to her knees, pain undulated down her back and she collapsed onto her stomach again, head reeling as the burning sensation overrode all else.

Sucking slow breaths through gritted teeth, moments passed until her scattered thoughts finally reformed as she fought for coherence. It was hard, though, and the haze of pain held an undercurrent she vaguely recognized as the lingering effects of painkillers, further muddling her thoughts. With her eyes moistened now by tears, Kara blinked and strove to focus on one thought at a time.

_My back —_familiar pain— drenched in evasion.

_So cold _—shirtless— numbing loss.

_She took… No... in the corner, the crumpled tanks —_relief— sundered by shudders.

_Six drawing near —_platinum divination— coiled malice.

_The Cylon smiles and then —_thoughts recoil— curtained revulsion.

Through the sludge of shifting memories, Kara vaguely recalled struggling to stand, determined to meet the Six on her feet. The Cylon had held something as she approached. Something in her hand. Fear had jolted Kara as the skin-job strode closer…and the something unfurled.

She abruptly shied from the memory, and the image slunk away.

Taking a steadying breath, Kara tasted dread as she reached for the memory again. This time an obsidian shroud loomed where it had been. Whatever the Cylon had done to her, whatever had happened, had been blotted out by the smooth blackness. Only the raw nerves of flayed skin gave proof that something had been inflicted upon her.

Kara clasped her hands around her head and curled inward.

Why couldn't she remember? What filled her with such dread? Had they done something to her head or had she blocked it away herself? A different pain wove through the angry furnace of her back. What if she'd told them—spilled her guts to stop the pain? Could she have begged or pleaded…then blanked it out like she had after reducing Leoben to a pulped carcass?

Shame and desperation drove her staggering to her feet and she lunged at the door, pounding her fists against the unyielding metal.

"_What the frak did you do to me?"_ she screamed. _"Motherfrakkers! Let me out. Damnit, let me outta here. Frakkers! LET ME OUT!"_ She continued to yell and scream as she slammed her palms on the door, the need to escape taking her beyond reason.

When her adrenaline finally evaporated, Kara drifted to her knees, leaning sideways against the metal barrier as her shouts settled into gasping sobs. "…akkers…godsdamned…frakkers." She pulled her knees into her chest and buried her head.

When her breathing and chaotic thoughts finally eased, Kara noticed something out of place against her thigh. A small lump at the bottom of her pants pocket. With the back of her hand, she swiped at her running nose and sniffed, shame at her breakdown mingling with the fear of what unknown _thing_ was so disturbing that she'd wiped it away. It was ironic that the thought that the Cylons might have frakked with her head was less upsetting than that her own mind had rebelled.

On a hiccuping breath, Kara reached into the pocket and drew forth three crumbling tablets. White powder dusted her fingertips as she stared at the pills, memory tickling an image of a familiar face leaning over her. Sharon? No… _Boomer._ She only had the vaguest impression, like a wisp of a scent, yet she was sure. And she knew that her ex-crewmate had given her these pills to help numb the pain.

But she couldn't dredge up any other memories, just the feeling of despair as she mentally touched the barrier in her mind, flinching from the coldness. She abruptly shoved two of the pills back in her pocket and stared at the gift in her palm. Holding it carefully, she stumbled to her feet and over to the spigot. Kara cupped water and washed the bitter medication down, feeling the cold liquid loosen her tight chest, and she slumped onto her rear, bent forward to keep her back away from the wall.

She still didn't know what had happened. And, as a spreading lassitude invaded her knotted muscles, she stopped caring, letting the drug have its way. Maybe she'd remember more later. Yet, as she hovered on the cusp of sleep, the idea drew a shudder from her.

Maybe she was better off not knowing.


	14. Chapter 14 Cold Shoulder

Chapter 14 Cold Shoulder

"Wash day, Starbuck. Off with the shirts and pants both," Six said.

Kara's green eyes locked with the Cylon's. "Go to hell."

"Still defying orders, Captain?" Giving a sad shake of her head, Six said, "You _will_ learn to obey. Sooner or later everyone does." She partially turned to the waiting guard and gave a meaningful look back towards Kara. "Shall I have the Centurion remove them for you?"

Glancing at the metal fingers, Kara knew the Cylon guard would shred her clothes with its claws, leaving her with nothing to wear after the skin-job finished with her.

She frakkin' _hated_ giving in to the bitch.

Quelling the desire to knock the tall blonde on her ass, Kara reluctantly pulled first one arm, then the other free, removing the tank tops then cargo pants and tossing the garments into the corner. A brief thought about the remaining two pills in the pocket had her wishing she'd found a hiding spot, but the cell hadn't provided any viable ones. As the chill air brushed her bare skin, she resisted the urge to cross her arms, not wanting the blonde to think she was embarrassed to be seen in only her sports bra and grey briefs.

"Good girl. There's hope for you yet," Six said with a smirk, then gave a wave of her hand and her metal escort marched forward, shackles held in one steel appendage. As the metal cuffs clicked shut on her abraded wrists, Kara heard the sound of the cell door opening and could tell by the heavy tread that another Centurion had entered.

_Frak. Now what?_ she wondered, then gritted her teeth as her aching arms were stretched over her head and locked in place. The first guard moved away and she saw the new one was carrying a length of water hose which it attached to the spigot in the corner. _Wash day… Right._ She turned her head forward to find the Six observing her closely.

"So much for the Jacuzzi, huh?" Starbuck said, refusing to give the Cylon woman the satisfaction of seeing her dismay. After all, it was just water. _Sure, frakkin' cold water, but hey, at least I'll be clean,_ she tried to tell herself, then gave a mental grimace as the tall blonde picked up the discarded clothes. She suddenly had doubts that she'd be getting them back any time soon.

"You're wardrobe's looking a little worse for wear, Starbuck. Kind of like you." Holding the garments away from her, the Six crinkled her nose in disgust and glanced back at Kara. "What's say I dispose of them for you, hmmm?"

When Starbuck refused to rise to the bait, instead looking resolutely straight ahead, the Six shifted so she stood directly in front of Kara and gave her a once over.

"Or…you could ask nicely and I might leave them here?" The skin-job raised her brows inquiringly, then leaned in a little closer and softly said, "Perhaps I can even get you new ones, warmer ones, if you can…_convince_ me with the sincerity of your request."

"You want me to beg?" Starbuck gave a grim smile and shake of her head. "Not happening, so go play dress up with the other dolls."

"We'll see." Giving a signal, the Six took the hose from her metal counterpart and adjusted the spray nozzle. "Love these things. Very clever idea having different settings to choose from." She twisted the spout's tip. "Let's see what this one does."

Kara braced herself as taller woman raised the nozzle towards her. Water spurted from the end in a thick stream, striking her in the face. Sputtering, she quickly averted her face into her arm, shielding her mouth and nose from the gushing water. As she was drenched from her hair down, Kara started shivering and debated tossing curses at her tormentor as one way to warm up. But that would mean removing her face from the protection of her arm.

She felt the pressure of the water increase as the Cylon fiddled with the settings. The force of the thin spray stung now as it struck. Then the Six was circling her and Kara suddenly gasped as her striped back was pelted by the cold torrent. She involuntarily jerked and twisted, yelling every curse she could summon at the bitch. How the frak her back could burn when the water was so cold, she didn't frakkin' know. It felt like the Cylon had taken a torch to her raw skin.

By the time the Six signaled for the water to be turned off, Kara's voice had gone hoarse. She hung now, chin to chest, with her eyes screwed shut. At least the water hid the tears she hadn't been able to hold back, and she tried to convince herself that she was just gasping for air, not sobbing from the agony.

A hand yanked her head up by the hair but she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see the Cylon gloating.

"You smell better already, Starbuck," the Six mocked.

Kara barely heard the snide remark; she was concentrating on keeping her jaw locked so the pleading on her tongue wouldn't slip free to betray her. She still couldn't remember what had happened before, but she was damned if she was gonna tell the bitch anything now. She pictured the Admiral looking at her with angry disappointment, then drew forth the memory of Lee as he lay bleeding in the bar, staring at her in shocked disbelief. Using the images as flails, she drove back the compulsion to beg the Cylon for release from the pain. She wasn't a frakkin' traitor. She'd betrayed enough people in the past. No more. Not this time.

Opening her eyes, Starbuck used the pain to fuel a genuine smirk, seeing the tall blonde's frustration at her continued defiance.

[ I I I I I ]

As Six scrutinized Starbuck, she bitterly acknowledged her failure to bring the human to her metaphorical knees. She had been sure that even this intractable woman would crumble beneath the mounting physical abuse. If only the others would allow her unfettered rein!

Grimacing, she recalled how Cavil had called her into his office after D'Anna and she had had their little talk. He had obviously been to see the prisoner and had felt that his own _reminder _of Starbuck's importance was necessary. Six had felt an unaccustomed fear at the coldness in the older Cylon's eyes as he had seconded D'Anna's admonishment that this Starbuck was needed alive and in a single presentable piece. A shiver trickled down her spine as she recalled his handing her the leather strap and giving a parting warning that _toys_ weren't the only things that could be boxed.

Six told herself that her failure up to this point was only due to the restrictions placed on her. The human's body kept giving out before her will to resist. Seeing the beaten and wet woman flaunting her insolence made Six seethe with the need to smash the grin from the obnoxious face.

Forcing herself to take a step back, the Cylon woman surveyed her victim from head to toe. Then she considered what she knew about Starbuck. Her eyes widened as she spotted the flaw in her strategy. There was no Starbuck. It was only a callsign. True, one that bore quite the reputation, but still not much more than a nickname.

No, this woman was _Kara_.

As she tilted her head to the side, Six contemplated what she knew of Kara Thrace. Leoben had of course shared the history of the human's abusive childhood. It certainly explained her extraordinary ability to withstand the physical pressures brought to bear so far.

Six sought to calculate how growing up in that type of situation would affect a child. For the first time she found herself wishing she'd had some interaction with humans before the fall of the Colonies. Arriving on Caprica only after the obliteration of the vast majority of the residents, the Cylon woman's only substantial contact with humans was since being put in charge of the interrogations here at the detention center. A couple of months of inflicting torture had taught her their physical weaknesses, but left her woefully ignorant of their psychological ones.

Frowning at her lack, she gave Kara another once over, that's when she noted the blood around the shackled wrists. An idea narrowed her eyes and she saw how the human was shivering, barely able to hold her smirk in place when her teeth were obviously chattering

Six moved in close again. "Cold?" She let her gaze trail slowly upward, knowing that she had Kara's attention as she let her eyes linger on the cuffed hands. "I bet Viper pilots need sensitive hands. Strong hands... Whole hands..." She let her eyes drop now and lock with the wary green ones. "Ever wonder how much nerve damage cold and blood restriction might do to a pair of hands?" _Yes!_ _That hit its mark._ She grinned, noting the prisoner's fearful glance upwards. Six nearly purred as she said, "I think I'll just leave you to contemplate that for awhile."

As Kara's hate-filled gaze locked back on hers, Six leaned closer and softly said, "or you could ask me nicely to let you down. What's say you? Ready to beg now?"

She stepped back, watching Kara wrestle with her fear and defiance. No. The woman wasn't ready to concede. Not yet. It was true that she was going to have to take care not to actually cause permanent harm, but the human woman didn't _know_ that.

Her smile was ugly with malice as she said, "I'll be back to check on you later. Think on my proposal, Starbuck. I doubt the fleet has many uses for a cripple."


	15. Chapter 15 Hands Down

Chapter 15 Hand Downs

As the Centurion released her, Kara let herself drop limply to the floor, trying not to betray herself by cushioning her fall, desperate to maintain her pretense of unconsciousness despite her body's continued shivering.

In the preceding hours, Six had returned twice. Each time spraying Kara's already shaking form with more cold water, then looking pointedly at her shackled hands as she had asked if Kara was ready to be reasonable. Despite her chattering teeth, she'd done her best to return the Six's mocking taunts with ones of her own. Until this last visit when she'd decided to play possum. The vague thought drifted to Kara that she probably wouldn't have to pretend if she was left much longer. Her limbs were already numb and she'd had enough survival training to know she was starting to succumb to hypothermia.

In a distant way, she was thankful that it was getting harder to think. At least the slowing of her mind meant her imagination wasn't working overtime anymore showing her images of her hands gone dark with gangrene and being hacked off by Cottle. During the period of time after the Six had first left her to contemplate her situation, Kara had pictured all that the loss of her hands would entail; the pitying looks and helplessness—a taste of which she'd already experienced as a child after her fingers had been broken. Prior to the Six's return, Kara had nearly crumbled, the future painted in her visions so overwhelming. Then, staring up at hands she could no longer feel, Kara had blinked.

If it really came to _that_, who said she had to _live_ as a cripple.

She was resourceful. Hadn't she already shown she could come up with a plan if necessary? So, Kara decided that if she survived her time in Cylon _hands_, but lost her own, well then, she'd find a way to cross the river Styx—and maybe Zak would be waiting for her on the other side. The thought of the youngest Adama's warm smile temporarily drove the cold from her mind as Kara pictured herself enfolded in his comforting arms. Memories of snuggling against Zak's chest as they lay together in bed, still flush from their lovemaking, raised a wave of momentary heat within her.

But her physical world's icy fingers quickly shoved the memory aside, and Kara was left feeling colder than before. The images had firmed her resolve, though. She knew that the gods were against suicide, and Kara had always viewed it as the coward's solution, yet, the way she figured it, if she made it out of this hellhole a cripple but without giving up the fleet, the gods owed her a pass. And it was a debt she planned to collect, even if she had to slit her own throat using a knife and her toes.

That settled, Kara set about the business of enduring the shudders that wracked her already cramping muscles and spasmed her aching torso. She had given her tormentor the same 'frak you' answer on the Cylon's next visit.

Now, she had to work to convince the Six that she wasn't in any shape to respond, let alone beg. It wasn't that difficult.

As she lay on the floor and heard the cell door close, her mind drifted and it would have been so easy to just let go.

Earlier, Kara had come to the conclusion that the Cylons wanted her alive and thus were avoiding some of the more aggressive forms of torture. Weren't they gonna be pissed if she shuffled off from hypothermia. The thought was enough to make her huff a weak laugh. And the laugh set off a coughing fit that lanced her side with pain, reminding her that she wasn't dead yet. Panting in the aftermath, Kara heard the taunting voice of her mom calling her weak, reminding her that the gods wouldn't give her a pass if she just lay there and didn't even try. She was going to have to try. If she failed… What was one more added to a lifetime's worth.

Levering arms she couldn't feel beneath her, Kara drew her knees up and made it onto all fours.

_Right... Good... Half way there._

Leaning with her shoulder to the wall, she slid her way up until she could lock her knees to support her weight. Breathing heavily, she regarded the two lumps of meat that were attached to her shoulders. Her fingers twitched as she commanded them to open from their partially curled position.

_Damn… Not good... But maybe not too late either. _

Turning so her rear was braced against the wall, she leaned downward, letting her arms hang as she shook them, trying to restore as much circulation as possible. After awhile, she began pacing back and forth, bumping her arms and hands gently against her thighs, occasionally adding gentle arm circles.

The movement served to warm her, but her teeth continued to chatter and she was still shuddering uncontrollably. Shivering was good, though, meant she wasn't too far gone into hypothermia. Feeling in the form of tingling needles returned first to her toes and feet. Her hands were swelling and slightly red as they began to ache. The pins and needles sensation eventually gave way to a throbbing that pulsed with each heartbeat.

_It frakkin' hurt— _but was a good sign.

And the shudders that had made walking an unsteady ordeal had finally settled into random shivers. Gods, what she wouldn't trade for a warm blanket. Or just the return of her tanks and pants. Kara hadn't been surprised to see that the Six had taken them away with her, along with the two remaining pain pills, and their loss was more vexing as that of her clothes.

Kara wrapped her arms around her torso and kept up a stream of vicious curses at the absent Cylon as she continued to circle the small cell.

Exhaustion eventually forced her to sit on the floor with her arms wrapped around knees pulled in for warmth. The fabric of her grey briefs at least gave her a scrap of insulation from the concrete but she was still miserably cold as she drifted in and out of stilted sleep. Occasionally, she'd stand and stomp around until fatigue again dropped her.

Between stomping and dozing, Kara did dexterity and flexibility drills with her fingers, remembering the different ones she'd been taught as a child by a solemn nurse. It was after the first time her fingers had been broken. Once the cast had been removed, the doctor had pulled her mom off into an adjoining office, leaving the six-year-old Kara with his middle-aged assistant to be shown how to do the rehabilitation exercises. Or try to, at least. With her mom safely out of the room, Kara had cradled her throbbing hand and mutely refused to follow the woman's instructions.

Touching fingertips to thumbs, Kara grimly smiled as remembered the variety of brides the nurse had offered, hoping to get her to cooperate and do the painful exercises. The harried woman had finally agreed to let her keep the blue and gold pyramid ball she had been using for demonstration purposes. After that, the young Kara had gritted her teeth and silently completed each drill. By the time her mother had finally returned and brusquely told her that it was time to go, the inside of Kara's lip was bleeding, but she hadn't cried, not once. True to her word, the nurse, with a cryptic look at her mother, had slipped the ball into Kara's hands as they turned to leave.

That ball had become both a curse and a talisman over the following weeks as Kara had forced her painfully stiff fingers to grip and release it as shown several times each day. And then, a summer afternoon a month later, a group of neighborhood boys had seen her bouncing it against the back wall of the deserted school. They'd offered to let her play with them if they could use her ball. Over that summer she'd learned that, with her speed and reflexes, she could best most of the boys her age. And she'd also earned their grudging respect by taking anything they could dish out and returning it in kind—usually with interest and punctuated with a smirk.

Kara grimaced at the irony that yet another of the little lessons she'd learned because of her mother was proving useful. Sitting on the cold concrete, Kara added to her wish list; one pyramid ball, black and red, the Caprican Buccaneers' colors, of course.

_Like Sam would forgive me if I chose any other. _

Kara abruptly pushed thoughts of her husband aside, they lead to a different kind of pain she didn't have the strength to deal with right now. No. What mattered was that she still had the use of her hands. If—_when_—the Galactica finally returned, she was damned well gonna be ready to blow as many of the Cylon frakkers to hell that she could.

Continuing on to slow extension and fisting of her fingers, Starbuck closed her eyes and pretended she was closing her hands about her tormentors' throats, alternating between the Six and Leoben.

It was almost enough to distract her from the cold... Almost.


	16. Chapter 16 Change Up

Chapter 16 Change Up

Sometime later, Kara was wrenched, disoriented, from a fitful sleep by two Centurions. In her exhaustion, she hadn't even heard the cell door open this time. When one of the chrome-jobs secured her arms behind her back, she knew that this session was going to be different then the prior ones and tried to keep her face impassive as she locked eyes with her platinum-haired captor. As the skin-job approached, Kara noticed that she was carrying something—and Kara stumbled back against the Centurion behind her as a blind fear swamped her. When the Six raised her hand, it was to reveal a black hood which she pulled over Kara's head.

Breathing heavily against the rough material, her initial terror eased slightly and she realized that whatever had triggered her panicked reaction, it wasn't the hood, though she still found it stifling as the fabric was drawn tight to her face, pitching her grey world into blackness. Metal fingers encircled her arms, gripping with negligent force as she was hauled, stumbling, from her cell.

_Now what? A field trip?_

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she focused on counting steps and extending her other senses as best she could, not really believing that she'd gain any useful knowledge, just as a way to combat the unsnaking fear that threatened to uncoil into panic again. Four turns and seventy-two steps later, she heard a door creak open as the bruising pressure was released from both arms only to be replaced by a hand that propelled her forward. Kara's heartbeat pounded in her ears as the foreboding that had descended on her at the same time as the hood kicked adrenaline surging through the channels of her body.

Then she could see again, the cloth yanked off as forcibly as it had been put on. Kara abruptly wished for the blindfold back. Within a starkly white room, Simon stood beside a table fitted with restraining straps and surrounded by instruments and equipment. The Cylon doctor's smile was as falsely benevolent as she remembered as he waved for the Centurions to uncuff and secure her into place.

"_Frak no!"_ she shouted, struggling uselessly to break loose from the guards' grasp as they dragged her forward and lifted her thrashing body onto the unyielding surface. _"Get the hell off me!" _she yelled at the Six that stood at her head, forcing her shoulders down flat against the plastic slab as mechanical fingers made short work of the chest, thigh, wrist and ankle straps. Then twin slats were slid into place beside each cheek, preventing her from turning her head.

Kara attempted to rein in her stampeding terror and clamped her teeth down hard on her lower lip, letting the familiar coppery taste and flare of pain focus her. Her nostrils flared as she breathed heavily through her nose, feeling the chest band compressing her damaged ribcage with each restricted inhale.

"Hello, Starbuck," said Simon as he edged into her line of sight, voice mellow but far from reassuring. "I'd say it was good to see you again, but I doubt you'd agree."

Kara's eyes followed him as he reached for something just beyond her angle of vision. His hand reappeared holding two small, round patches with attached wires and he brushed her bangs aside to apply the first one to her right temple. The second was stuck to her left as the doctor met her eyes once more. There might have been a flicker of compassion darkening his gaze before he glanced up at his Cylon sister at her position at the head of the exam table.

Flicking back to meet her eyes again, Simon blandly said, "We won't be doing any reproductive procedures today." Kara's gaze wavered in relief and she blinked away the dread that had ringed her vision on her first sight of Simon. She saw in his tight smile the briefest of acknowledgements that he'd known she'd find some reassurance in his off-handed remark. His expression hardened though with his next words. "I've been tasked to assist Six with your rehabilitation." A grimace flashed across his face and was gone so quickly that Starbuck wondered if she'd imaged it. She quickly forgot it as the tall blonde moved around to her side, an anticipatory smile pulling the sultry features into the familiar cruel mask.

"What Simon _means_ is that he's been ordered to help me teach you obedience," Six's tone was mocking and Kara had the feeling that it was as much aimed at the dark doctor as herself. Then she continued, "It's time you learn how to be properly respectful of your betters, Starbuck." One slender hand reached out and caressed Kara's forehead. "Bring you to heel as it were." Then, as Starbuck tried to tilt her head back away from the skin-job's touch, the fingers snagged her hair and thumped her head against the table hard enough to rattle teeth.

"My brother Leoben thinks you have some fated task to accomplish. The rest of us are more…skeptical, shall we say." Six tightened her hold as she added, "Not to worry though, D'Anna's suggested a more appropriate use for you. But, of course, you have to be properly trained first. Your reluctance has been noted by the other models," something grim flash across the Six's face before she added, "and Simon here is the result. You have only yourself to blame." Six leaned closer. "Beg nicely and I'll return you to your cell right now. I'll even return your clothes."

Shifting her gaze to stare at the ceiling tile directly above her head, Starbuck chose to ignore the Cylon—and silently prayed that Simon hadn't lied. She swallowed and shoved the thoughts of the Farm and human incubators aside. The ceiling tile looked to be about a two by two square with a pitted surface. It made a change from the smooth concrete of her cell. Focusing on the tiles above her, Kara let her stony stare answer for her.

"Fine. Have it your way," Six said as she stepped back.

As the Cylon woman released the grip on her head, Kara's eyes shifted to the physician as he approached again holding more wired patches. She involuntarily flinched as felt him deftly affixed one at the juncture of thumb and forefinger on the back of each hand before moving down her body and attaching another set to the top of each bare foot. Then, pulling her sports bra to the side, he pressed a larger one over her heart. A familiar beeping, steady, if rapid, began and she felt a passing flickering of relief that at least she knew what one of the wires was for; the others… She tried to avert her thought but fear burned on the back of her tongue as her mind supplied likely suggestions for their function. Swallowing the taste of bile, Starbuck steeled herself, pulling her defenses tight within a cloak woven from a childhood of experiences dealing with pain.

When Simon drew near again, he showed Starbuck a mouthpiece with straps. "To keep you from biting your tongue," he informed her, his tone neutral as he held the rubber biteguard before her face, obviously expecting her to willingly open her mouth for its insertion.

_Frak that! _

She clamped her jaw shut, pressing her lips together and glared emerald shards at him. He regarded her for a brief moment; his brown eyes sadly acknowledging her determination to fight them every step of the way.

"Six, if you would?" His gaze shifted to his counterpart, and Kara saw movement as the female skin-job's arm arced downward in response.

The blow to her solar plexus drove Starbuck's breath out in an explosive cough and, as she reflexively gulped in air, Simon thrust the tubing between her teeth, quickly securing the straps to the slats at either side of her head. Sucking in air now through the cylinder's opening, she fought back frustrated tears at how easily her feeble attempt at defiance had been countered. She flexed her hands against the restraints, longing to break free and smash the smug smile from the Six's face, and wrap her hands around the doctor's throat until that knowing looked faded from his eyes.

Unfortunately, neither was likely to happen as the bindings held and she forced herself to glare at the ceiling tiles again, peripherally aware when doctor shifted over to one of the machines. The repetitive sound of the heart monitor was interlaced with the click of buttons and switches, and then she heard Simon say, "Ninety kenawatts…to start."

The monitor betrayed her building apprehension, and Starbuck braced herself.

She only had a moment to wait.

"Do it," Six gave the command, and Kara's world coalesced into jagged edges and her body arched against the restraining straps as electricity coursed between the electrodes.

When the current stopped, she collapsed back onto the table, ragged breaths gusting through the hole of the mouthguard as she attempted to curse away the fiery pain.

"That was a low setting," pleasure made the Six's words a purr.

Starbuck tapped a lifetime of anger and felt fury douse the worst of the pain. Forcing her lips into a smile around the mouthguard, she met the her tormentor's malicious gaze and wished she could spit at the face hovering over her own.

"Right," Six said, "Our little Viper pilot doesn't seem very impressed. Raise it to one-ten."

The knives drove deeper this time. She convulsed as agony arced through nerve endings now sensitized. When the voltage cutoff again, shudders shook her, and Starbuck could feel sweat slick her skin. With her heartbeat pounding in her ears, she didn't hear Six give the command before another jolt flayed her raw nerves.

As she lay gulping between bursts, limbs compulsively twitching, Starbuck fought to dredge up the rage she needed to combat the torment. It was getting more difficult with each successive shock. When a sixth, then seventh, tore through her, tears mixed with perspiration on her face and Kara couldn't prevent her pained gasps from deepening into sobs, compounding her suffering as her abused ribs strained against the tight chest strap and held her weight pressed onto her tender back.

Six moved into her blurry vision, satisfaction drawing the woman's features into a picture of malevolence. "Do we finally have your attention? We can do this all day, how about you?"

The Toaster's gloating was all Starbuck needed to find again the path to her wellspring of hate…and, ignoring her protesting side, she managed a rough chuckle. Then, letting her suffering spill forth over the Six's shocked stare, she laughed at her tormentor, deep guffaws that shook her shoulders and racked her chest. Her chortles expanded as Six's face suffused with rage.

A part of Kara knew that she sliding over the brink into hysteria, but couldn't care; the Cylon bitch's furious expression just spurred her laughter on. Through watering eyes, Starbuck saw her turn to Simon, vehemently saying something she couldn't hear above her own maddened mirth. The doctor shook his head at whatever Six was demanding. Then the dark head finally gave a reluctant nod and turned away. When he moved back to Kara's side, he held a syringe and quickly injected it into her arm. She saw a troubled look flicker across his face just before the syringe's concoction exploded her senses outward. As the drug heightened her sensory awareness, a scream was finally torn from her throat and she writhed in the restraints.

_Too much!_ _It was too much!_

A cacophony of sound thundered against her eardrums as light drove like a lance into her head, and each abused portion of her body flared its message along her nervous system at the same time. Another scream broke around the mouthguard when pressure on her chest forced her flat to the table and all the nerves along her back cried out.

With a deep gasp, she dragged air into her lungs as the weight lifted and a sliver of coherence returned to her fracturing mind. Someone was bent over her, his features wavering before her as she fought to focus through the sensory overload.

"...uck! Starbuck! Look at me. Look…_damnitall_, I should've never—" The looming figure turned away. Then Kara heard him shout, _"No! Don't! It'll—"_

Agony cascaded through her as everything was stripped away and she was thrown into a violent convulsion, then…nothing.


	17. Chapter 17 Visiting Hours

Chapter 17 Visiting Hours

The awareness of sounds slowly filtered back first; a beeping that set a discordant beat to the pounding in her head, and slow, rasping breaths she eventually identified as her own. Tactile sensations returned next; pressure around wrists and ankles, a yielding surface beneath her sore back, and a deep ache that encompassed her entire body. Lastly, she opened gritty eyes, squinting to focus as a harsh star of light was flashed across her vision. A blurry figure hovered above her and Kara blinked repeated until Simon's worried countenance finally came into focus and with it, a flash of remembered anguish…and Kara shrank away.

"Easy now," the doctor's voice was soft as he slipped the penlight back into a pocket and unwound the stethoscope from about his neck, bending slightly closer as he settled the instrument's cold disc above her heart. "Just relax. Take a couple of breaths." She instinctively did as instructed, confused by his solicitous behavior.

As Simon turned to adjust the IV beside her bed, Kara's gaze darted about the room, searching for his counterpart. They were alone, and her bewilderment deepened when she realized that she appeared to be in a different room now, maybe even a hospital ward.

The door swung inward and D'Anna Biers strolled through, looking relaxed in jeans and tan jacket as she approached Kara's bed. Meeting the faux-reporter's murky blue eyes, Kara's own narrowed, wondering what the skin-job wanted now.

"Good to have you back, Captain. Thought we'd lost you there." Giving a nod towards Simon, "Lucky the Doc's very good because he got your heart up and running again after only a few minutes. Probably no brain damage, right Doc?"

Sifting through the words, Kara decided that the Six must have turned the voltage up too high—maybe combined with whatever Simon had injected her with—causing her heart to stop. She wondered how long she'd been out of it…and what the frakkers had planned for her next. She mentally shied away from thoughts of the moments before her collapse. It was too soon to face them yet, feeling the panic that was coiled in her gut and afraid it would spring loose if she let the memories of soul-tearing pain sweep in.

"Wh—" she started to say, but her voice came out no more than a breath. Clearing her throat, she tried again, "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?" she managed this time, though still not much more than a whisper.

"Well, there's always information of course. Or, maybe we don't want anything. Maybe we're just torturing you for shits and giggles." D'Anna leaned in closer with an unpleasant smile and said, "I know Six's been enjoying herself mightily."

"Frak you," Starbuck said, locking eyes with those only inches from her own, relying on her Triad face to conceal the serpent of fear the Cylon's words roused.

"No thanks, sweetie. I don't _do_ damaged goods. That'd be Leoben's forte." The Cylon gave her a knowing wink before straightening. With a glance at the hovering Simon, "Keep up the good work, brother." Then, as D'Anna turned and strode away, she said over her shoulder, "I'll be seeing you again real soon, Starbuck. So get some rest, I've a surprise planned."

As the door closed behind her, Kara glanced over and saw regret flash across the doctor's features.

"Sorry." Simon's apology hung between the two of them and she wasn't sure who was more startled as she searched his face. He looked away, giving a sigh as he injected a syringe into her IV line. "This'll help you rest. I'll be back to check on you later."

Watching his retreating back, Kara decided he was just trying to set her up by playing at good Cylon, bad Cylon. They were all just frakkin' Toasters with programming that told them what to do and say. She wasn't about to start believing that he really _felt_ any true sympathy—or regret. The skin-job was just frakkin' with her head like the rest of them.

Wearily closing her eyes, she let the drug pull her back into thankful oblivion.


	18. Chapter 18 Intermission

Chapter 18 Intermission

She next woke back in her cell.

And she was clothed. Not her own, so no more pain pills. Instead, she had on a pair of sweatpants and matching top. The chill of her gray cell was greatly reduced by the clothes and she wondered why they'd bothered returning this little comfort to her?

Forcing herself upright, Kara began pacing from wall to wall, staggering at first until control of her limbs and a modicum of strength returned. When fatigue forced her to rest, she cautiously leaned back against the concrete wall and shut her eyes as she murmured a prayer.

"Lords of Kobol, what do you _want_ from me?"

She let her head tilt forward to lean on her good knee and finally let the flashes of remembered agony she'd been fight since awakening roll through her. Dread settled as a weight in the pit of her stomach, and the fear of being hooked up again, whether for more electrical shocks or…other purposes, mocked her feeble attempts at courage. As the perspiration from her pacing was replaced by the cold sweat of fear, she fought to ride out the panicky waves. She was frakkin' Starbuck after all. And Starbuck knew all about pain. She could deal with pain; her mom had made sure she'd had plenty of practice.

With a bitter twist of her lips, she pushed herself up and decided to stop whining to the gods about the mean Cylons and get her shit together.

Running both hands through her hair, she tugged at tangles, using the self-inflicted discomfort as a focal point. Anger and rage were her first line of defense, but it was shame and guilt that provided the bedrock of their foundation. This, Kara understood about herself. She also knew that the same emotions often pushed her to the self-destructive side of herself, including the hope-destroying despair that had marked so much of her time trapped in the apartment.

"Frakked either way. Nothing new there," she muttered into the cell's silence.

A tray was slid through the slot, and Kara's stomach growled. She frankly couldn't remember when she'd last eaten and, as she used her fingers to scoop the oatmeal into her mouth, she didn't know when they'd next feed her. After swabbing the last of the cereal from the bowl, she sat back with a satisfied burp. They'd been generous for a change. She could actually say she was full. Maybe because her stomach had just shrunk that much? Frak the reason. It was just a nice change not to have the gnawing hunger sapping what little strength she still had.

Satisfied, Starbuck allowed herself to rest, sprawling flat on the floor and staring up at the single light fixture. As she slipped into an exhausted sleep, her last thoughts were a prayer that the gods give her the strength to hold on a little longer.

[ I I I I I ]

From his spot at the prisoner's cell window, Simon jotted his observations on a chart, and then flipped it closed before speaking to his female companion as they started back down the long hall.

"She's recovering well," Simon said as he clicked the pen and tucked it away in a vest pocket. "The damages inflicted by Six appear to be temporary. Though underweight, I'd say another day of rest and she'll be sufficiently strong enough to resume interrogating," He came to a stop, forcing the Three beside him to halt also. "D'Anna, if you want Starbuck to be physically capable of fulfilling your designated role for her, you _must_ keep her away from Six." He saw the full lips purse in thought as his companion considered his words.

"Yeah, I can see that," D'Anna agreed. "Starbuck seems to really get under a person's skin. For either good or bad," a pause, then, "I admit I find her quite… enervating." As her jaw tightened, Simon felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature in the hallway. "Looking forward to seeing how she likes my present." The woman's lips thinned in thought. "But you're right about our sister. I've pulled her from the Captain's interrogation. She was kinda…less than pleased, shall we say, though your report convinced the others it had to be done."

"Good." Relief must have colored his voice more than he'd intended as he saw D'Anna give him a sharp look.

"And what about _you_, brother? Have you become obsessed with her like our Leoben?"

"Of course not. I just find her a fascinating case. A contradiction of forces."

"_Of course not,"_ she parroted him, her smile mocking as she added, "Got under your skin, too. It's ok, brother. Guess it's good she'll be working for us soon. Hate to see her a focus for dissension within our ranks." Then, with a upward sweep of eyebrow, "Or more of one."

"What are you planning next?" he asked, curious yet uneasy for a reason he refused to contemplate.

"Well, got my surprise package, I'm thinking tomorrow's a good day to unwrap it," she gave a decidedly unpleasant smile, and then continued, "Doral was asking about drugs. Said to ask you about your store of hallucinogenic ones?"

Simon had already considered, and dismissed, the option earlier. But he knew he'd have to justify his rejection of that course of treatment. "I strongly advise against it. Just as Six poses a risk of breaking the subject's body, the only medications I have available are likely to break her mind. Reviewing Thrace's history, she already shows pronounced inclinations to instability," he said with a headshake. "The chances of a psychotic break are just too high. A shattered mind will render her as unusable as a crippled body."

"Suppose we'll have to bow before your expertise, Doc." D'Anna gave him a last cryptic look before turning to walk away from the room and its troublesome occupant.

As Simon followed his companion, his thoughts returned to the human and an internal voice mocked his own attempts at self-deception. D'Anna was right, Kara Thrace, with her medical history and documented exploits, had appealed to a protectiveness within himself he didn't understand. Deciding that it was just his medical programming, Simon forced his thoughts to other matters and picked up his pace, eager to leave the conflicting feelings behind him.


	19. Chapter 19  Present

Chapter 19 Present

The next time the Centurions came, they came without an accompanying skin-job…and they didn't bother shackling her. Instead, each of the pair grasped an arm and 'escorted' her from the room. As they halted before the door to the cell immediately to the side of her own, she understood then why the shackles and hood had been deemed unnecessary for the short trip.

Curiosity—and a dark premonition—tightened her gut as the door swung inward. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a lungful of air as she attempted to rush forward, pulling against the restraining grips on her elbows.

_The boy next door. That's my Sammy. _

Her thoughts scattered down different paths, trying to avoid the full impact of the chained man that hung from the ceiling in a cell identical to her own.

_Damn it, Sam! Can't I leave you alone without you getting in frakkin' trouble!_

Her jaw twitched as she clamped down on all the words that were on the tip of her tongue. She hardly noticed the door clang shut behind her as her eyes locked with those of her husband. Green to blue, thoughts and feelings flashed back and forth in the first few seconds: relief that the other was alive, longing after their separation, and concern as each took in the physical condition of their spouse. Then, finally fear at what the other's presence implied. In that moment, Kara accepted that she loved this man. She could no longer doubt what she felt.

With a swallow, she tore her eyes from those balmy blue ones and glared at the woman at his side. D'Anna met her gaze with a small grin.

"Like my surprise?" she asked. "I would've wrapped him for you if I could've found a big enough bow." She gave the man's bare chest a pat as she added, "I'm afraid I let Six play with him some first. Hope you don't mind."

Kara's eyes narrowed. It wasn't hard to see how much _playing_ the crazy blonde had already done; Sam's torso was splotched with colorful bruises.

_We're a matching set now, huh, Sammy_.

As the skin-job gave him another pat, Kara saw Sam wince and only the metal fingers still clamped on her arms kept her from launching at the bitch in front of her. Grinding her teeth, Kara met her husband's gaze again. He gave the barest of nods to her slight head tilt. Both knew why they'd been brought in together. Knew what the Cylon planned and that neither could afford to break to save the other.

Rage. Hate. Vengeance. Starbuck let them scour everything else away and used them to plate walls around her feelings for the bruised man before her. Steeling herself, she turned to D'Anna and silently met her speculative gaze.

D'Anna pulled a knife from her pants pocket and flicked it open. Kara's nostrils flared as she immediately recognized it. It was hers, the one Kendra Shaw had given her…and the one Leoben had taken from her that first day. Her eyes darted to Sam's then back to the blade as the skin-job used the tip to clean her stubby fingernails.

Looking up, D'Anna caught her staring at the knife.

"Nice toy. And so sharp." She touched the edge to her fingertip and a drop of red beaded, and then she sucked on the small wound, never letting her gaze drop from Kara's.

"Sharper than the dullard holding it," Kara bit out, unable to resist rising to D'Anna's little taunt. She tore her gaze away as the corner of the Cylon's lip lifted in satisfaction. She couldn't—_wouldn't_—let the Toaster get to her.

_Damnit, gotta be stronger than this_.

"Kara, don't," Sam said as he locked eyes with her.

D'Anna turned to face him as he spoke. Her hand shot out and she slapped him. "You had your chance to talk. Now it's your wife's turn."

Kara instinctively jerked forward, only to be reminded that she wasn't going anywhere, the Centurions' grip effectively locking her in place. She fought to slide her Triad mask into place. It was hard, but she'd succeeded before D'Anna swiveled around to face her again.

"Like I told your good-looking fella here, it's your turn." D'Anna waved the guards to pull Kara off to the side and stepped slightly sideways herself so she could see both Kara and Sam at the same time.

The repositioning wasn't lost on either prisoner. The skin-job wanted to be sure she could watch Kara's reaction to whatever she was going to do to her husband. On entering the cell and seeing him strung up, she knew D'Anna intended to use them as leverage against each other. Sam knew it, too. They'd made promises with their eyes not to give in or give up, no matter what the frakkers did to the other.

_Lords of Kobol, this can't be happening. Don't let this be happening…_

She tautly watched D'Anna lift the weapon and run the flat of the blade down the center of Sam's chest. She saw the way the woman's eyes repeatedly darted to her own, trying to gauge her reaction. _Let the frakker try. _It took more than luck to win at cards and Starbuck had mastered the mask of indifference a long time ago.

Disappointment briefly tinged the Toaster's features before they hardened. With a twist of the wrist, the knife was turned and D'Anna drew a long slash length-wise across the exposed skin. Sam drew in a sharp breath but otherwise didn't react to the shallow slice along his ribs. Blood trailed down his light skin in rivulets and soaked into the fabric of his waistband.

"I'm going to tell you how this goes," D'Anna said as she flashed the blooded knife. "I hurt your hunk of a hubby here until you beg me to stop. That simple. I'm not really into all this S&M stuff, so ask me nicely, convince me how cooperative you can be, and I'll stop."

Kara let her flat stare be her answer.

"Oh, I knew you'd take some persuading. But that's ok." The Cylon woman again patted the bare torso. "Samuel here seems a healthy specimen. I'm sure if he must, he can endure for hours…or days. How about you?"

Again, Kara held her tongue and face still. Iron silence was the only acceptable answer to the Cylon's taunts.

Seeing the metal flash out and draw another line of red, Kara's green eyes locked to Sam's blue ones. They kept their connection as more slashes streaked his torso with crimson. She couldn't miss how his muscles quivered with each downward stroke of the blade, nor did the tightening in the corners of his lips and eyes go unnoticed. Mentally chanting curses, Kara held…and held. Even when she heard his breathing take on a ragged note, she held her silence, though her own breaths took up a matching rhythm.

A part of her saw a trickle of blood form at the corner of Sam's mouth and knew he was biting his lip to keep from moaning. The coppery taste in her own confirmed that she was matching him in this too, tongue bleeding as she bit down on the growing impulse to speak. Sweat beaded both of their faces despite the chill of the cell. In a strange way, they were synchronized in a way they'd only ever achieved before during sex.

She was so immersed into Sam that it took a few moments before Kara realized that D'Anna had moved back and was staring at her, perplexed. Kara blinked her eyes against a droplet of sweat that had trickled from her brow. The connection with Sam broken, she saw that the Cylon woman was lightly slapping the flat of the blade against her thigh as she regarded Kara. Pushing all the hate she could into her eyes, Kara let the mask slide aside.

"Ok. Seems I miscalculated a little." D'Anna glanced from one figure back to the other. "I thought you loved your husband. Maybe I was mistaken?"

Kara was caught off guard. She did the barest of flinches before darting a glance at Sam. Returning her glare to the skin-job, she saw a speculative look cross the woman's face. Had the Toaster seen her momentary flash of guilt? Frak! She slammed her mask back in place, trying to re-establish the connection with Sam.

"What do you think, Mr. Anders? Does the missus seem rather unconcerned for your welfare?" D'Anna asked as she looked back and forth between the two. "Has Starbuck strayed on you?"

Now it was Sam's turn to be unable to hide his involuntary reaction as his chin jerked out. Kara's heart sank at this too visible sign that her husband knew she'd not kept to their wedding vows.

"Oh, so!" D'Anna gloated. "She hasn't been the dutiful little woman. Cockled you, huh?" Looking back at Kara, the Cylon woman's eyes lit with a malicious delight. "Bet it was that handsome Apollo. That towel of his couldn't cover his…_assets_."

Her words were met with stony silence by both. Yet, Kara could tell the other woman wasn't fooled. She'd seen the flicker of betrayal cross Sam's face and Kara's slight headshake.

"I seem to have the wrong man," said D'Anna. "Hmmm, Starbuck and Apollo. I'd heard rumors bandied about the fleet. It looks like there was truth to them." She looked at Sam, tapping the flat of the blade now on his chest. "I'd also heard that the younger Adama had taken command of the Pegasus…and gotten hitched. So, what are you? Starbuck's rebound boy?"

"I married Sam _first_, you frakkin' Toaster!" Starbuck spit out, and then realized her mistake, letting the skin-job and guilt goad her into saying anything. She quickly clamped her mouth shut and forced her features back to their impassive mask. But it was too late. She'd already shown the Cylon female too much.

"So, who dumped whom?" D'Anna moved to stand in front of Kara. "Did Apollo get tired of you? No? Maybe he learned what damaged goods you are. Is that it?" The Cylon quirked an eyebrow. "Were you not good enough? Papa Adama object to his perfect son getting mixed up with common trash?" D'Anna walked a slow circle around Kara before stopping back in front again, leaning in close as she said, "Nothing special to look at. Word has it that you're a major screw-up. Let's see," pausing to tap a finger to her chin, "I believe Leoben referred to you as a cancer? Something you're momma said?"

Within Kara, rage blazed past the shields she'd put up and she slammed her forehead into the sneering face.

D'Anna stumbled back, hand raised to her gushing nose. Surprise and fury suffused her expression as she stared at the blood on her palm before returning her hand to her face to staunch the flow.

"_You…little…bitch!"_ D'Anna said, her words partially muffled by the fingers she held pressed to her nose.

Starbuck's satisfaction at the Cylon woman's pain was short-lived. Her eyes widened and she paled when she read the intent in D'Anna's expression as the Cylon turned.

"_No! NO—,"_ her scream was cut off as the knife sank deep into Sam's abdomen. D'Anna gave it a hard twist before yanking it back out. Sam grunted as the blade pulled free, and then looked down at the gapping wound before raising bewildered eyes to Kara's.

She was sobbing now, her mask gone as she watched the blood flow across her husband's stomach. _"Let me go! LET GO!"_ Kara thrashed in the implacable grip of the Centurions, struggling to break free, desperate to go to him.

A bloody hand gripped her chin as D'Anna forced her to meet her gaze. "This is on you, Starbuck. His pain. His death," the Cylon said. "This is what Leoben meant, isn't it? Pain surrounds you? Guess Apollo was the lucky one to get away scot-free, huh?"

She couldn't breathe…couldn't breathe. She knew she was sucking air in and out in gasps but it wasn't enough. Hearing D'Anna's words pulled all the oxygen from the room and she was choking, vision graying out around the edges until she forced herself to focus on the mocking face before her.

It might not be too late. He might not…

"…please," the word whispered forth between her gasps. "Please…just let me help him. Please!" Her words picked up volume as she begged D'Anna. "Whatever you want…just…_please!"_

D'Anna's brows rose in surprise, then lowered again in triumph and a smile turned her lips up. She gave a nod to the Centurions and they released their hold.

Kara slipped around the Cylon and moved to stand before Sam's drooping form. With shaking hands, she pressed on the wound, seeking some way to stem the steady flow of blood. Turning back to D'Anna, "He needs help. A doctor. I've gotta—" she broke off as Sam called her name.

"Kara," he repeated, voice husky with pain. "Don't baby…Don't give em…just don't." He paused as a shudder shook his body beneath her hands. "Damn… Wasn't…supposed to end…not this way."

"Sam…no. No, please, don't…" she pleaded as blood oozed between her fingers. Kara's gaze darted from Sam's lopsided smile back to his stomach. Dropping her hands, she struggled to remove her sweatshirt, cursing as the zipper snagged. With a yank, she pulled it over her head and pressed it hard against his lean stomach, then pressed herself up against him, trapping her right hand and shirt between their bodies. Her left hand stole behind his neck and she reached up and gently kissed him on the lips, tasting their mingled blood.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," she murmured against his mouth. "Never shoulda let you get close either."

"Not—" he broke off with a grimace, then continued, "…not you're fault… Kara Anders, I chose you…pain in the ass…and all." His eyelids drooped and Kara gave his hair a tug, and they opened again.

"_Damnit, you can't-can't go…_ I love you. You hear me. Samuel T Anders. _I love you,_" she spoke the words low and forceful, praying that he could hear how much she meant them, that he could forgive her for all the shit she'd brought into his life.

His eyes were closing again and Kara could hear his breathing shallowing out, feel the slowing of the heartbeat against her breast.

_Frak it, Sammy. You can't leave me alone!_

She wanted to rage and shout at him, but instead, kept those words locked tightly in her throat as she stroked the back of his head and instead breathed against his ear her love over and over, trying to make up for all the missed opportunities in their past.

She felt his chest still against hers.

"That was touching… Really," the voice mocked from behind her. Kara shut her eyes but didn't respond. "Too bad it was all unnecessary. If only you'd learn to obey. Damn shame. Good looking guy."

As she opened her eyes, grief and guilt roiled her vision to a red mist and Kara wheeled and threw herself at D'Anna, striking out and catching the Cylon across the jaw. She lashed out with a second punch, then a third before something connected with her temple and she crumpled into darkness.


	20. Chapter 20 Aftermath

Chapter 20 Aftermath

Her head hurt.

_Gotta…lay off…the ambrosia. Not frakkin' worth…this._

She moaned and raised an unsteady hand to her head. It took several moments for the stickiness on her fingertips to register. Ok…a brawl? She couldn't remember picking a fight—or finishing one.

Blinking open her eyes, she quickly closed them again with another groan. Slow breaths.

_Cold. How come I'm cold?_ She tried to move her left hand but met with resistance.

_What the frak?_ She squinted through partially opened eyes as she lifted her head. A cuff around her left wrist was keeping it at her side. Her wavering gaze followed the chain to another arm, one with a tattoo that mirrored her own.

Memory slammed through her mind and she rolled partially away, vomiting violently. Dizzy and gasping, she fell back, eyes squeezed shut as the scene replayed; D'Anna's vindictive look as she turned on Sam, the flash of the blade, his warm blood on Kara's hands and belly. Each moment savaging her heart.

She passed out again.

When Kara next came to, the knowledge of what she would see was before her, no slow realization this time. Shivering now, she cautiously sat up and took stock. Her vision still had the inclination to blur, so yeah, a concussion…check. Cold because she wasn't wearing a top…double check. Her wandering gaze found the bloody sweatshirt laying a few feet away. It was more than she had in her to put it on while it was soaked with Sam's blood. Her own torso was smeared red. Some hers. Mostly Sam's.

Co-mingled like their last kiss.

Pulling her knees into her chest, she tried to hold it together. Sam wouldn't want her to fall apart. On that thought, she forced her reluctant gaze to the side where his corpse lay sprawled out beside her, his blue eyes closed forever. Biting back a sob, she studied his face. It looked so peaceful from this angle, like he'd just dozed off and would wake if she slapped him hard enough.

Her left hand stole towards his arm under its own volition. His skin was cold beneath her fingers as she touched his forearm just below where the tattoo began. Cold. Sam was cold. No number of shirts could warm him now.

Her eyes locked on the metal cuff circling his wrist and leading to hers. Why? Why had D'Anna left them chained together? She shut her eyes again. It hurt too much to think through the throbbing headache. Her throat was parched and the taste of bile still coated her tongue.

Craning her head she saw the corner spigot was only a few feet away. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to draw forth enough energy and will to drag Sam's body the necessary distance to get to the faucet. By scooting backwards on her rear, Kara was able to pull his weight along until she was close enough.

Water splashed on her forehead dribbled pinkly onto the concrete and trailed off towards the drain.

Kara quenched her thirst, feeling slightly less queasy as the worst of the dizziness faded. She used her heel to snag and pull the shirt near, and did what she could to rinse it clean. It took awhile because she had to pause several times as her stomach threatened to heave again; she told herself it was because of the concussion, didn't have a thing to do watching the water redden with Sam's blood.

The shirt, wrung well but still damp, made a good compress after being wrapped, turban-style, around her throbbing head and Kara again pulled her knees into herself.

Exhaustion claimed her again, and she fell into it.


	21. Chapter 21 Cold Company

Chapter 21 Cold Company

Two day, thinks Kara.

At least that long since Sam died…

Was killed...

Since she got him killed.

No one's come for her… Or for Sam... Or for his corpse.

In fact, no one's come at all, not even to deliver food. She still has access to the spigot in the corner, but she indifferently wonders if they'd forgotten her in here.

Reaching out, Kara touches the body again, a fey mood compelling her to nudge and prod it every few hours. Rigamortis had fully stiffened the body sometime late the first day. The hours since are marked by the slow relaxing of the locked muscles and ligaments as death absolves the mark upon the shell that had once held Sam's vigorous spirit.

In the spaces between dozing and checking the body, Kara stares up at the gray ceiling and remembers nights spent running her hands over Sam's athletic frame. The sculpted torso and muscled legs beneath her caressing palms always had made her hot for him. And _he_ knew just the spot behind her ear that made her quiver with need. She'd had a year to get to know the body of her husband and the shades of their lovemaking had slowly changed from rough and fast to a slower enjoyment of each other. Now, as the body she had held so often through cold New Caprican nights went from rigid corpse to a slack piece of flesh, Kara lays beside it and wishes that she could just follow.

Since being captured, she had prayed on many occasions. Now, no longer believing that any of the gods are going to pull her from this nightmare, she still has faith that they're at least listening. And so she sends prayers to them to guide her Sammy to a better rest.

Another day passes…

….she thinks.

It's hard to tell with the constant light and nothing to mark time by. Huddled in on her grief, she doesn't care how much time has passed. She can't bring herself to even be concerned about whether they ever intended to feed her again. When her body's demand becomes undeniable, she drinks, but otherwise she just drifts. In time, she becomes more and more light-headed and detached. The reality of her cell fades into confused flashes of Sammy laughing as he nuzzles her ear or leading a pickup game of Pyramid on the makeshift court…or hanging suspended, blood gushing from a wound that grows beneath her hands.

Thus the scrape of the door opening doesn't immediately rouse her from her stupor. A shadow blocking the glare of the blub finally has her listlessly turning her head to blink dull eyes at a hazy figure as it moves towards her. Leoben's concerned face finally comes into focus as he kneels beside her.

Kara lets her head roll back and resumes her staring at the ceiling, barely registering the warm palm on her forehead as the Cylon strokes a gentle hand across her brow.

"Why must you make everything so hard?" His hand moves to her cheek but her eyes never shift, not even as Leoben continues, "Stop fighting. Let me help you. Just ask, Kara, and I can free you from all this."

Silence and staring. Kara wraps herself in the numbness and pushes the voice away.

With a sigh, the figure rises and leaves.

And she was left alone with what remain of another man she has loved. The second she has killed. Within the silence of the cell, her thoughts touch on ideas and questions. She wonders if Zak and Sam would be waiting for her on the other side. Wonders if the two men will like each other. Two easy going guys like them, yeah, they'd be chummy in no time. The true question was whether she'll be welcome, being the instrument of both their deaths and all. A smile lifts her cracked lips as she realized that her guys could never deny her. Her heart eases slightly as she realizes that if the gods let her cross, the two would be waiting. Letting her heavy eyelids droop shut, Kara knows she might finally find peace when her body finally fails.

Just have to have faith.

For the first time since she was taken, Kara accepts she isn't going to make it out. In a guarded place in her heart, she'd held to a hope that if she could survive long enough, Adama would come for her.

At least one of them.

Now, in a world where choices have been taken from her, Kara sees her last chance to determine her own end…and screw her bedamned destiny.

Kara rests her forearm over her eyes and lets herself drift off again.

[ I I I I I ]

Outside the door, Leoben and D'Anna watched the still figure through the one-way window.

"She's not going to give, she'd rather die," the female Cylon said to her male counterpart as he stood frowning beside her.

"You were wrong," Leoben snapped at her, his frustration at being overruled before making him ruder than was his wont. "Wrong to take her from me. I _tried_ to tell you that her path did not align with this Anders."

"Whatever," D'Anna returned, her own anger obvious to Leoben. He had no time for her displeasure.

Turning to face his sister, "Your plans for Starbuck are inconsequential. Doomed to failure because you can't discern her true purpose. Kara Thrace is not meant to be some token figurehead." He paused as he turned back to the door and splayed his fingers against the glass window before continuing, calmer now. "Her path will carry both the Human and Cylon races to their ordained end."

"And _how_, oh brother of mine, can you be sure that this 'end' is a good one?"

"Because she will love me. I've seen it." Leoben's voice now took on a singsong quality, "Kara will hold me in her arms, embrace me, and declare her love for me."

D'Anna shook her head. "Look at her brother. That woman doesn't want _you_. What she wants is to die."

As her words echoed in his head, Leoben felt doubt churn his chest. He'd seen how weak Kara was, how little physical reserves she had left. He knew that she probably wouldn't eat now if he offered it to her. As it was, she was barely even bothering to drink. Starvation and dehydration were as sure killers as any weapon.

D'Anna tilted her head contemplatively as she laid her hand over the one Leoben still held on the window. "There _is_ something about this Kara Thrace." She interlaced her fingers with his, pulling both away from the glass. "I thought you were acting the fool, falling for her. Then Six and Simon each seemed caught up in her, too." D'Anna gave a brief shake of her head, a mocking smile curling one corner. "Then I tried. Ha!" a self-depreciating laugh, then she added, "No wonder you fell for her brother. There's no ignoring her, I'll give you that."

He pulled his hand free. "You've only met Starbuck. You know nothing about Kara."

"Maybe not. But I know you're gonna lose both if you don't do something."

Leoben returned his gaze to the cell. He had to agree with her. He did know Kara. She was running away again.

He would have to do something about that.


	22. Chapter 22 Room Service

Chapter 22 Room Service

Water was dribbled through her parched lips and Kara reflexively swallowed as the liquid trickled down her sore throat. Something seemed wrong about that, but the reason was a fuzzy thought that flitted away before she could grasp it. More of the fluid flowed into her mouth as she lay semi-propped up.

Sometime later a broth replaced the water, and she felt hands supporting her shoulders when she choked on the slightly thicker liquid.

Strength slowly flowed back as her body was re-hydrated.

Thoughts began to flicker behind her closed lids until she finally squinted grainy eyes open. She found herself looking up into Leoben's penetrating stare. He held her across his lap, eyes filled with concern and care as he quietly welcomed her back.

Kara tried to roll away from the Cylon only to discover that she was still cuffed to a weight that limited her motion. Leoben shifted from beneath her and climbed to his feet, stepping back as she sat up.

Fighting the vertigo and muzziness of her thoughts, Kara looked around to get her bearings. To her left, something pulled her gaze and she jerked away. Kicking out, she instinctively tried to scramble backwards from the cadaver, only to be held firm by the literal dead weight attached to her wrist.

"Get it off. _Get it off!" _she yelled, still cringing away as memory lagged behind her reflexive revulsion.

"What's wrong, Kara," Leoben asked, squatting near but out of reach. "It's just your husband."

"Wh-what…," she started then broke off as the past week finally notched into place. She covered her eyes with her free hand and forced her breathing to slow. _"…frak…frak…frak,"_ she cursed under her breath with each exhale.

Anger stirred as the initial panic receded. The bastards wouldn't let her be. Leave her to die. And Sam…her Sammy. She stole another look through her fingers at the body beside her. Why were the frakkers leaving her chained to him? A shudder passed through her.

No…

Not him…

_T__he body._

Kara couldn't stand to think of the decaying corpse as her husband. By her reckoning, some five or six days had to have past, and the body's facial features were starting to shift as internal decomposition began its work.

Leaning to the side, Kara heaved, and the liquid so recently consumed spread across the concrete. She retched until her body imposed its limits and she collapsed onto her back. As her stomach and mind settled, she reached up to wipe at her face, brushing away the mingled tears, sweat and spittle.

She didn't notice when the Cylon left, but the sound of the door opening woke her from the light doze she'd fallen into. Kara opened her eyes to see Leoben kneeling beside her, and that he had brought reinforcements in the form of two Centurions. He held a bottle and was studying her with one of his enigmatic smiles.

"Kara, don't make me have to force you," he said softly.

She blinked in bewilderment. Force her? What?

"You _will _drink this," he said, giving the bottle a shake.

She pushed herself back into a sitting position as she dubiously eyed the bottle. It took another moment for his reasoning to sift through and Kara finally understood that the Cylons were afraid she was going to die. Of course, that had been her vague intent, hadn't it? She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything, and as for drinking…the last day or so was a blur.

_Right. So he thinks he's gonna make me drink? Let him frakkin' try!_

Her eyes darted now between Leoben and his shiny companions. Leoben must have correctly interrupted her sullen glare as a refusal, because he gave a jerk of his head towards the silent guards and said, "They can easily hold you while I pour this down. I can assure you, Kara, it won't be a pleasant experience. You won't like it." Again he seemed to catch her thoughts as he added, "And in case you think you can just vomit it afterwards, I've had an anti-emetic added to prevent that." He reached out to stroke a stray wisp of hair from her sweating brow, but she flinched away.

"Please Kara, make this easy. All you have to do is accept me. Accept what I offer." He firmly gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "We belong together. Accept it and I can make all this," he gave a general wave of the cell, "go away."

As he released her chin, he turned his hand over and trailed the back of a finger down her neck to where the stained sweatshirt dipped between her breasts. He raised his eyes and Kara saw the desire in their depth. Yeah, she understood what he wanted, and not just her physical surrender. A chill settled in her chest as she read the manic intensity with which he regarded her. He wanted nothing less than the complete subjugation of her body, mind and soul.

"So, what's it going to be?" he asked as his hand returned to caress her cheek.

He probably should have known better, but his physical power and her obviously exhausted state had lulled him into a mistake. Starbuck turned her head and bit his hand, grinding her teeth with all the hate she could muster.

His surprised yell started the Centurions forward, but he waved them off and jabbed the bottle he held into her solar plexus, yanking his hand free as she gasped for breath. Blood trickled from the side of her mouth as she grimly smiled despite the rasping of her lungs.

"Right," he said, rising as he gripped his bleeding hand. "We'll do it your way."

He gestured the two Centurions forward and began his first force-feeding session.


	23. Chapter 23 Falling

Chapter 23 Falling

Kara shuddered and curled around herself as the door closed once again behind Leoben and his metal escorts. After three days of force-feedings, she was getting physically a little stronger, but the Cylon wasn't giving her nearly enough to regain her former health, just enough to keep her going, keep her alive.

Even as her body recovered some, her mind was fragmenting.

She barely slept anymore. Unable to lose herself in delirium now, Kara found that each time she dozed off, nightmare images of blood, pain and death tormented her until she woke screaming. And waking was nearly as bad a shock as the sight of Sam's slowly decomposing body greeted her whenever she opened her eyes.

She could smell the rotting flesh now even above her own ripe stench. And, every time her gaze fell upon the once beloved face, its slow disintegration made her stomach want to turn, but the drugs she'd been given prevented her from vomiting, wrenching from her even that tiny bit of control. With each force-feeding, it was pressed in upon her how impotent she was. Somehow, not being able to expel her disgust only sped up her own internal dissolution.

As the days dragged on, she'd nearly come undone on several occasions, dragging the corpse to the door, pounding and yelling for them to come release her. Eventually exhausted, she always ended up curling into herself and shaking uncontrollably.

Leoben seemed to be near whenever this happened.

She'd suddenly become aware of hands stroking her hair and gently rubbing circles on her shivering back. Whispered words meant to comfort brushed her hair and he'd tell her to just let him in, release her resistance and she'd be free. He continued to take her subsequent rejections with patient acceptance, rising to leave her alone each time when she slapped his hand away.

Kara fell into a state of limbo where her dreams, nightmares and waking moments fused and she was often confused whether she was still locked away or lost in the desolation of her mindscape.

And, she started seeing Lee.

Sometimes he was there to rescue her, at others he stood over her, derisively saying that she was only getting what she deserved…and then there were moments when the body beside her had his face. Each of his 'visits' left her reeling as Lee dissolved into the reality of the four walls of her prison. Guilt quickly followed as her eyes focused on the body of her husband. Shouldn't she be dreaming of him? Gods! She was so frakked up.

When Kara jerked awake to the feeling of something crawling across her skin, she had no idea how much time had passed. She might have been hallucinating again or maybe this world had its own version of insects, but when she sat up and saw maggots squirming over her arm and the attached corpse, Kara lost her last fragile bit of self-control. Her hysterical shouts echoed about her as she jerked to her feet, frantically brushing at the bugs, desperate to get them off. She trampled the ground with bare feet, trying to crush the writhing pale worms. Then she was stomping on the arm of the corpse and clawing at her wrist, in a frenzy to get loose.

Into this, he came.

Kara turned into his arms, crying and grasping him as if drowning. _"Pl-please…"_ her words choked out between gasps, _"…take it…off… please…don't leave…"_

He unlocked her cuff, freeing her from the pulped mess she had made of the corpse. "Shhh, shhh," murmured into her hair as she was lifted and carried a short distance. Then she was eased down and he was there with her, stroking and running his hands across her shuddering form, continuing to murmur soothingly into her hair.

Kara pressed further into the body beside her, her breath puffing out in panicked gusts as her fingers tore at his shirt, desperate to feel warm flesh on her palms. As the fabric parted, she burrowed against the bare chest and latched onto him. She turned her head so she could hear his heartbeat.

Lee's heartbeat.

A distant part of her kept prodding that something was wrong…different…but it was lost as warm fingers slid under her shirt and up her back, moving in slow circles before gliding downward.

She felt the questing hands as they slid her pants off her hips, knew when he rolled her onto her back. She needed this. Needed him. With eyes still closed, she felt him move over, and then into her. Head hidden against his neck, Kara felt his thrusts rock her and she clutched at him through the haze that choked her mind, the chill in her center demanding that she pull his warmth closer.

Her gasps had nothing to do with the things he was doing, she was too distraught to be aroused, but it was enough to just be with Lee again. As he finally came within her, he arched away…

…and Kara opened her eyes.

Not Lee.

…Leoben.

Kara's eyes rolled back in her head as mind and body fled from this, her greatest betrayal.


	24. Chapter 24 Gone

Chapter 24 Gone

After his climax, Leoben continued to hold Kara for another few minutes, just enjoying the sensation of her pliant body beneath his after being so long denied. As the glow cleared from his mind and he rolled from her, he realized that she was unconscious. At first he just put it down to the accumulation of exhaustion and their lovemaking, but there was something disturbing in the total slackness of her features. She didn't _look_ like someone resting peacefully.

No. Something was off that he couldn't quite pinpoint.

Shaking his head, he decided that it didn't matter. Kara was his now. She'd given herself to him physically; it only remained for her to accept that this bond they shared was love.

He deftly redressed them both, then gently lifted the limp figure in his arms and carried her from her original cell back to their apartment. Once there, he striped them down again and lay with her pulled into his arms. As he drifted off to sleep, Leoben smiled, content that they were both finally on the path God had laid out.

The next morning Leoben awoke with a smile, still spooning Kara. Gently rolling her over, he saw that she, too, was awake and his smile grew as he tried to catch her eyes. The edge started to slip from his happiness as she continued to stare straight ahead at the ceiling.

Nevermind, he knew today was likely to be difficult with her. She'd insist on feeling guilt and shame over her surrender to her emotions, but it was too late for her to undo their lovemaking. Kara responded to her heart and body, so he'd just have to arouse her need and that would overcome what her head was likely telling her.

Putting action to words, Leoben began caressing her, seeking to feel again the way she'd clung to him. He knew yesterday had been too fast, too needy on his part; she hadn't reached the pinnacle of their union as he had. Today he'd make sure she did.

He roamed her still form with gentle fingers, tracing curves and teasing peaks as he sought to whet her desire. But, as he fondled and stroked without any response to his ministrations, Leoben began to grow frustrated. He'd been prepared for many reactions from her this morning: hoped she'd move into his embrace and even initiate their lovemaking, but also been prepared for her to violently reject their union. This complete lack of response, lack of her usual fire, this detached state though caught him off guard.

As his impatience and need grew, Leoben added little pinches and nips to provoke her. Her very refusal to even acknowledge his presence inflamed an anger that wasn't his usual wont, and he finally entered her forcefully. Almost immediately, he slowed his thrusts, tamping down his own reaction as he sought again to make this good for Kara. Staring into her face as he moved within her, Leoben finally discerned that she wasn't just ignoring him. The Kara he knew wasn't even here with him. She'd fled, as was _her_ wont. He continued to try to illicit a pleasure response, but he knew now that he would fail. Quickly finishing, Leoben rolled away to stare at the ceiling as he considered this newest twist in the path of Kara's destiny.

Laying beside her quiescent body, listening to the unchanging pattern of her slow breathing, a new worry scratched at the door of his contemplations. Between them, D'Anna and Six, they had nearly broken Kara's body. Could this _absence_ be evidence that he'd broken her mind? Leoben gritted his teeth and clenched a hand to his chest. That had never been his plan. To make her see and accept her destiny, it had been necessary to tame the wildness of Kara's spirit, it hadn't been his intent to break it.

Later he dressed her, finding that she would respond to the simplest of instructions in a mechanical manner, which he found vaguely ironic given their circumstances. He'd even gotten her to eat, repeating every few minutes for her to lift the spoon and eat the oatmeal he'd put before her. Thus the day went on. After her first accident, he realized that she wasn't even capable of caring for her most basic of needs. He sat with her on the sofa and gently spoke, repeatedly professing his love and desire to make her happy, outlining the role God had ordained for them, and lightly touching her face with the lingering hope that she'd react in some way. Even her rage would be welcomed at this point.

The day ended as it had begun, Kara staring at the ceiling, totally unresponsive in body and mind.

After another day spent uselessly trying to get through to her, Leoben worriedly brought in Simon. His brother Cylon seemed nearly as disturbed by Kara's condition as himself, frowning over the notes he made and casting disapproving looks Leoben's way. When Simon neutrally stated that Kara had fallen into a catatonic state, Leoben's fears were confirmed. They'd finally managed to break Kara Thrace. But the result wasn't what any of them had expected. This shell of a woman was of no use to D'Anna in her bid to prop up the Occupational Government, and she certainly wasn't in any condition to fulfill her part in God's plan.

Simon shook his head at Leoben's request for treatment options, explaining that only time and care were likely to bring the human woman back to herself. Leoben didn't press his brother, having no reason to believe that Simon might be holding back any possible treatment options.

So, Leoben took care of Kara as he would a child. Each day making sure she was properly cleaned, dressed and fed to the best of his ability. As the days slipped into a week, he saw her physical condition further deteriorate despite his efforts; an unfamiliar despair clenched as a vice about his heart.

Each night his soft hands stroked her as he murmured tender words, still hoping for some sign that she was coming back to him. As she remained unmoved by his caresses, he never took it any further after that first morning.

This was not the Kara Thrace he desired.

He didn't want a…

…an automaton.


	25. Chapter 25  Visitation

Chapter 25 Visitation

As Laura's bare feet moved silently down the metal staircase, she pondered why a humanoid model Four with a Centurion guard had escorted her from her cell, only to shove her inside this apartment and leave, all without a word of explanation. Not that they'd explained much to her since rounding her and a few others up for questioning several days ago. Stepping from the landing onto the carpet, her brown eyes quickly took in the dining unit and scanned onward to the area beyond, widening abruptly as she spotted a solitary form seated on the sofa. The blue-robed figure didn't react as Laura cautiously sidled further into the living room.

"Kara?"

Shock and relief sped Laura's steps forward as she recognized the woman, but she faltered when the blonde head didn't look up, or even twitch, at her approach.

"Kara?" she tentatively repeated. Still no response.

Laura cast a brief look about her, confirming that they were alone before returning her attention to the young woman. Pursing her lips, she considered her choices and, kneeling in front of the sofa, gently reached forward to tilt Kara's head up. She drew in a sharp breath and almost released her hold on the gaunt face as she got her first good look. Kara's green-gold eyes, usually awhirl with complex emotions, were blank in a way that stiffened the older woman in alarm. The stretched skin beneath her fingers was cool and, as she reached up to brush the blonde locks away from Kara's face, the long hair felt brittle to her touch, reflecting the overall impression Laura had of Kara general state. She looked fragile enough to shatter at any moment

"Captain Thrace? It's Laura…Laura Roslin." Again she searched for any sign of recognition…or even awareness. Any reaction at all. "Starbuck?" Nothing.

_What've they done to her?_

She placed a hand on each shoulder, feeling the protruding bones under the terry-cloth, and gently shook her. Kara's head swayed with the motion, yet she remained oblivious to her surroundings.

Shifting to sit on the couch, Laura noticed the slight discoloration and pinkish tissue around the wrist as she took one of Kara's limp hands in her own and gave a gentle squeeze. Their captors had obviously had Kara tightly bound at some point—and recently enough that the skin was still healing. Laura hadn't thought that her hate for the machines could grow, yet she kept discovering new reasons to despise them. Sometimes, like now, she grimly wished she had the opportunity to kill one of them by her own hand. Wouldn't Bill be shocked at her bloodlust, she thought. Then again, if he were here and saw his 'daughter' in this state, he'd be fighting for the privilege of eviscerating the responsible bastard himself.

Well, he wasn't here. And with no handy hunting knife in sight, she was going to have to find a different way to fight back. Starting with helping Kara…if she could.

Scrutinizing the apartment setup once more for clues to what might have happened—_been done_—to the younger woman to drive her into this state, Laura wondered again at their purpose. Why would the Cylons lock up an ex-Viper pilot in this type of accommodation?

She thought back to when they'd first received word that Kara had been taken. Her first reaction had been fear for the younger woman, knowing of the Cylons' special interest in her. Then she'd heard that it was a Two, possibly the _same_ Leoben that Starbuck had interrogated, that had come for her the first day of the Occupation, and Laura remembered being chilled at the possible reasons for the Cylon's interest in the young officer.

Now it appeared that her concerns were amply justified.

But, among the likely scenarios she'd envisioned, this…this homey prison, for Laura knew it was still a cell despite of the nice furnishings, wasn't one of them. Why hold her in what approximated a home? What mind games had they played with Kara during the past few months?

Seeing the vibrant Starbuck reduced to a…a mindless doll tore at Laura. She'd come to care for the impulsive young woman, especially once they'd both settled on New Caprica. She recalled Kara stopping by the school Laura had setup for the children of the settlers. The first couple of times she'd come by, the ex-pilot had hung back by the entrance of the tent, just listening. After she showed up for a third time, Laura had caught her eye, giving her a signal to wait while the teacher dismissed her class for the day.

As she'd approached the younger woman, Laura had noticed how Kara kept fisting her hands at her side. Others might have interpreted this as anger, but the experienced teacher recognized it as a nervous habit, probably born of the need to protect herself when she was feeling especially vulnerable. It was at that moment that Laura's suspicions of abuse solidified.

Having worked as a teacher before the invasion, she'd learned the signs of child abuse, and Kara seemed a classic case study. Her history of aggressive behavior and fights—anger management issues—especially towards authority figures, and her trouble forming meaningful relationships all pointed to childhood trauma. And, considering that the few attachments Kara _had _formed were with men, Laura was willing to bet that the abuser in her life had been her mother.

These thoughts had come to Laura as she greeted Kara that day so many months ago. She hadn't let her new perception show as she offered her visitor a seat. As the silence between them threatened to become awkward, Laura had pulled out her extensive people skills and drawn Kara out with discussions about what they'd each had been doing since settling on the planet. They'd talked for about an hour before Kara had abruptly stood and excused herself. After that, the younger woman had stopped by about once a week on some pretext or another.

Until the Cylons had returned.

Bringing her attention back to the silent figure beside her, Laura tucked a straying strand of lank hair behind Kara's ear. Gently placing her palms on each cheek, she spoke slowly and clearly, "Captain, you have to fight. Bill—the Admiral—needs you to fight. And Apollo." Did she see a flicker of the eyelashes at the mention of the younger Adama? "Yes, Kara, Apollo needs you to fight. When Galactica returns, you need to be ready to go." This time she was sure; she'd definitely had felt the younger woman twitch.

Suddenly Sam Anders came to mind and she mentally berated herself for not thinking of him sooner. Kara's husband had been doing an admirable job with the Resistance prior to his disappearance several weeks ago, and Laura wondered if Kara could possibly know anything about his fate.

"Kara, have you seen Sam? Your husband, Kara, he's missing. Sam's missing. Have you seen him? Heard anything?" This time Laura felt the muscles beneath her palms tighten and she felt a quiver slowly build to shudders that traveled down Kara's lean frame until she jerked from Laura's hands.

As life returned to the green eyes in the form of shattering grief, Laura was thankful for Kara's re-emergence, but the loss reflected in the young woman's gaze was shocking.

Sounding like she was speaking from a far distance, Kara tonelessly said, "Sam's dead," her voice strangely at odds with her body's violent trembling.

Laura reached and pulled her into an awkward hug, rocking and murmuring words of comfort as the shakes continued to rack Kara. She expected the younger woman to break down into sobs, but she didn't. She let Laura hold her, yet she didn't say anything further, and the older woman was concerned that Kara might slip back into whatever dark corner she'd retreated to before. The thought brought its own worm of doubt to Laura as she considered the circumstances of the young woman's catatonic state.

Shuffling the thought aside for the moment, she returned her full attention to Kara as the worst of the shudders seemed to be easing. Keeping up a steady flow of soothing words, she sat and rocked her for a long time.

Eventually, Laura felt the shoulders she held relax, and she helped ease Kara down so she was resting with her head on Laura's lap. Continuing to gently stroke the long hair like she use to do with her younger sisters, after a little while she was surprised to realize that Kara's breathing had leveled out and she appeared to have fallen deeply asleep. Laura debated waking her, somewhat concerned, but decided against it. She knew that she should really find out what had happened to her, yet…it seemed more important to let her rest for now, there'd be time later for them to talk.

Her head jerked up as she heard the click of the door lock, and Laura carefully slid out from beneath the sleeping form, moving to put herself between Kara and the male Cylon as he stepped from the landing onto the carpet of the dining area.

Leoben. She knew the manipulative bastard was mixed up in this somehow.

Keeping her voice pitched low to avoid waking Kara, "Just what have you done to her?" she demanded.

"Only what's necessary to help her find her way," answered Leoben quietly after flicking a look in Kara's direction. "Her path is a difficult one, but Kara always seems determined to take the hardest route possible."

"And what of Samuel Anders?"

Leoben smiled, just a small lifting of the corners of his mouth, but Laura saw it and the urge to slap it off made her hand twitch.

"I regret his death." Laura gave a sniff of disbelief, but said nothing as he continued, "He had no part in God's plan for Kara. Like I said, I regret his death, but I'll see that his sacrifice wasn't wasted."

"And that means?"

"Grief often spurs the turning to others for comfort. Much like Kara just did with you," he explained. "Now she'll turn to me." As if that simple answer was all that was needed, he stepped forward, obviously intent on going to Kara where she still slept oblivious to their conversation.

Shifting to put herself between the Cylon male and the young woman, Laura stopped him with a hand to his chest. "No. You've done enough."

The sandy-haired head tilted to the side as he looked from her eyes down to the palm pressed firmly against his shirt and back up. His eyes narrowed just the slightest. "There's no need to fear for her. I won't hurt Kara. I love her," he said, his tone just a bit patronizing.

"She's obviously already been hurt."

He scowled. "That was not my doing. I was outvoted."

"Nevertheless, she was harmed," Laura said, pushing the point as she saw the regret and guilt in his face. "Since you can't protect her, you should release her."

He brushed her hand aside. "No. She stays here, with me. This is our path."

The door lock sounded again and Laura's gaze shift upwards to see Doral and his Centurion shadow enter the apartment. As she dropped a questioning look back to Leoben, his smile returned.

"I appreciate all your help, Laura. Kara's been in hiding, but I knew you'd bring her back to me." He stepped around and to Kara's side before Laura could try to block his path again. Looking from the Cylon to the still sleeping woman, it came to her that she'd been used. A chilled feeling wrapped around Laura at the realization that she'd unwittingly had done Leoben's bidding…and had betrayed Kara to him as a result. The urge to throw herself at him, scratch his eyes out, had her taking a step forward when she felt a hand close on her elbow and she was roughly pulled away and forced up the staircase.

Her last glimpse of Kara was of her stirring as Leoben laid a hand on her head.


	26. Chapter 26  Dawning Truths

Chapter 26 Dawning Truths

It seemed to Kara that she was always waking from a nightmare to discover a worse one awaiting her.

This time she came to with Leoben leaning over her with his hand threading through her hair. She rolled over on the couch and instinctively kicked out, catching the Cylon on the hip and knocking him to his knees. Scrambling to her own feet and backing away, her eyes darted about and a shudder course through her when she recognized that she was back in the damned apartment again. Panting from the fright and adrenaline surge, she put more distance between herself and the skin-job as he rose to his feet.

What the frak happened? How'd she get back here?

Keeping a cautious eye on Leoben, Kara cast back through her memories, trying to understand all the swirling impressions. One abruptly took her legs from beneath her and she collapsed into one of the dining room chairs, her vision graying out as she lowered her head.

Sam was dead. Gods! How many times was she going get blindsided by the memory?

The muffled sound of a chair being shifted along the carpet jerked her head up and she saw Leoben settling across the table from her, his gaze radiating worry. How the hell had she come full circle, she wondered. Now that the initial shock eased aside, Kara tried again to make sense of the jumbled images in her mind. Sam's body growing stiff beside her. Hours…days…passing until Leoben came.

The force-feedings…

As the memories of the Centurions holding her down flooded back, Kara again retreated, rising to move over to the corner window and glaring back at her own personal stalker.

But what came after the force-feedings?

She rubbed at her temple as her memory seemed to just end at an ebony curtain, just like it had on other occasions. It was more than just losing time as she had earlier in the apartment. That had been like becoming aware that she'd been daydreaming and not able to remember about what. This…this _void_ was shrouded in dark emotions and hinted at jagged teeth just waiting beyond to rend if she dared to probe too deeply.

Whatever it was that she couldn't remember, she suddenly was sure she didn't _want_ to know. But it still left her stuck back in this gilded cell with a psycho Cylon and no clear understanding as to how or why. Maybe the other models had finally given up on trying to get anything from her. Or Leoben had somehow convinced them that he could succeed where they hadn't.

That was assuming that the elusive memories weren't of her spills her guts—and all Galactica's secrets—to the frakkin' Toasters. She quickly shied away from that possibility, staring instead out the window and across the desolate horizon…what she could see of it beyond the rooftops.

Fatigue finally pulled her away from the view after sunset and she returned to the sofa, sidling carefully around Leoben where he still sat passively watching her. After all but collapsing onto the couch, Kara was perplexed by how weak she felt. Not that she should be surprised. But her memory loss took on a sinister new meaning as she considered her debilitated condition; what if they had drugged her?

She scrubbed at her face, not sure what to think, just positive that it was bad, whatever_ it_ was.

"I can fix you some dinner…if you're ready to eat?"

Startled, Kara looked up to see that Leoben had silently moved to her side.

"Frak off, I'm not hungry."

"You should be. You hardly ate any of your breakfast this morning," he said. "It'll only take a few minutes to make a couple of sandwiches."

"Told you, I'm not hungry, so get the hell away from me," she said while mentally repeating his words. Breakfast this morning? How long has she been back here…with him? She covered her eyes with her right hand, need and fear vying to both remember and forget whatever was hidden behind the gaps in her mind.

A hand, _his_ hand, pulled hers down from her face and she jerked away, giving him a glare as she hissed, _"Don't you dare touch me."_

"We've touched, Kara. We did more than that," he said, squatting down to her level. "Stop denying what's between us."

She was on her feet in an instant.

"You're lying," she spat out, the urge to strike restrained by a stronger revulsion as he rose to face her, nose to nose.

"No. I've held you and you've clung to me as me made love," he said. "Our first time was rushed, I know, but I took it slow after that."

Shoving at him now, "You're crazy," she said fiercely, and gave another hard shove as he fell back a step. "A lying machine that's crossed its wires." Leoben continued backing. "I'd never, _never_ let you touch me, you bastard!" As she went to push him again, this time he pulled her into his chest, wrapping arms as strong as steel bands around her as he met her blazing gaze.

"I wouldn't lie about this. You gave yourself to me, Kara." He held her tight as she struggled to pull free. "Gave yourself, and now we're together as it was meant to be."

"Let go!" she spat at him.

"No, not while you deny what we've shared."

"_Shared?_ I don't remember frakkin' sharing anything but my fists with you, you sick bastard!" She fought again to pull her arms from between them, only stopping when his crushing embrace made breathing difficult.

His gaze was perplexed as it met her hate-filled one. "You don't remember? Don't remember us?" He sounded almost hurt.

"No! I don't frakkin' remember, ok!" she shouted into his face, a tingle of satisfaction as he flinched from her words and eased his hold slightly. Pushing what she saw as a weakening on his part, "Last thing I remember is you and your metal pets and…and…" she trailed off, veering abruptly from thoughts of Sam.

He released her so suddenly that Kara stumbled back a few steps before catching her balance. She didn't attack him again as she watched concern, frustration and some other indefinable emotion cross Leoben's face.

As he stepped closer and raised his hand, Kara refused to flinch or give ground, ready to take and respond to the expected blow. Her eyes wavered in confused anger as his hand hovered just short of her cheek and she realized that he was holding back a caress instead of the expected strike.

"Oh, my Kara. You do make life difficult," he softly said as his hand fell back to his side. "In the cell, I released you, and you turned to me, gave yourself." She stiffened, holding her breath as he continued, "I carried you out and we made love. Search your senses and you'll know it's true. I didn't force you."

Breath choked in her chest; and her face went as white and fragile as tissue paper. Backing now from the man—the machine—in front of her, one hand held out defensively as if to ward him off, Kara shook her head in denial, but his words resonated with the echo of hands roaming her body.

She'd let him…

No—_NO_—it was another of his lies. It had to be. And yet…even without being able to recall anything, she could feel the truth behind his words, that she'd…that she had actually…

When the couch hit the back of her legs, Kara collapsed onto it and covered her face with her hands, waves of disgust making her unable to bear the sight of the Cylon any longer.

"Come join me in our bed."

She didn't raise her head, and a moment later she heard his receding steps. In self-loathing, Kara curled into the corner of the sofa and wished it were possible to fold herself into oblivion.


	27. Chapter 27  Ultimatum

Chapter 27 Ultimatum

The next day Kara jammed metal chopsticks into Leoben's neck during dinner and stabbed her rage into his chest over and over, then calmly returned to the table to eat the steak he'd cooked. His stoic return a few hours later mimicked so many of their encounters during her first two months that Kara let the knife slip from her fingers rather than trying to kill him again. For a moment, hope had appeared in the form of the incompletely closed apartment door, and she'd sprinted for her chance, only to find the same bars blocking her way as before. Returning to the apartment had tasted like ash, the flicker of hope quickly snuffed.

The following evening Kara used a piece of toilet assembly to try to slash her wrists.

Leoben found her before she'd completed more than the first cut.

The day after, he brought Kacey.

And everything changed.

Her child. Half human…half Leoben. Kara had denied it at first. _It_ wasn't hers, couldn't be, Starbuck wasn't anyone's mother. Then Kacey was hurt and Kara knew she was to blame. She'd tried to defy the gods yet again and was being punished for it. Worse, a child was being punished for her sin. Sitting beside the little girl's hospital bed, she prayed for the gods to grant her this pardon. And, as the child's—_her child's_—eyes had flickered open, Kara had reached a hand instinctively out to Leoben where he stood silently beside her, sharing in the relief that the gods had spared at least one from the curse that surrounded her.

Caring for Kacey as she recovered from the head wound consumed all of Kara's thoughts that week. She treated the nasty gash each day just as Simon had instructed, and cleaned the little girl in the shower, taking extra care not to get the bandage wet. While assisting Kacey in getting her top and pants on in the right direction, Kara discovered that the child was ticklish and giggles filled the apartment as the pair tussled. It was Kacey that taught Kara the joy of a raspberry buzzing against her belly when the little girl noticed the scars on Kara's abdomen and blew bubbles of air against them.

Each day brought a new discovery for Kara.

She'd always thought of kids as rugrats that were a nuisance to be barely tolerated. It had never occurred to her that their innocent delight in each experience could be shared. Even meals, messy as they were, were a revelation as Kacey's face either puckered or grinned with each new food she tried.

For three weeks, Kara Thrace learned what it meant to be a mother.

During that time, Leoben mostly kept his distance, only interacting with them whenever their child initiated it, sometimes sitting on the floor and playing blocks or teaching Kacey the letters of the alphabet. Kara forced herself to be civil around the little girl, but rebuffed all of Leoben's attempts to connect on any other matter. And, each night he still issued the invitation to his bed, and continued to stoically accepted her refusal.

The beginning of the fourth week Kara's pretend-world tilted off it's carefully balanced axis as reality again inserted itself in the form of D'Anna holding a subdued Kacey in her arms.

Kara had been in the bathroom, having left Kacey playing in the living room with Leoben before breakfast. When she stepped out, her gaze was immediately drawn to the blonde Cylon as she stood holding the child at the foot of the staircase.

Leoben was nowhere in sight.

Kara tensed but she held herself still as she met the calculating eyes of the skin-job that had killed Sam.

"Hello, Starbuck. Me and the tyke here were just getting acquainted," D'Anna said as she shifted the child to her hip and one arm. "Quite a little armful, huh. I could take her off your hands if you'd like?" The Cylon woman's expression left little doubt of the implied threat.

"Where's Leoben?" demanded Kara, hoping that he'd return and put a stop to whatever game D'Anna was playing at.

"I had him called away. Offered to watch Kacey." A smug smile tipped up the corners of her lips as she said, "Leoben's gullibility is downright shocking sometimes."

"You won't hurt her. You've been trying too long to get someone like Kacey," Kara said, praying she was right and the skin-job was bluffing.

D'Anna opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again as her expression became thoughtful. "Right again. Wouldn't wanna hurt our little _hybrid_ here. But I was thinking…spending so much time exposed to a tainted human influence mightn't be so good for her either. I'm sure I can swing a vote to have her taken away. Somewhere safe from your corrupting presence."

Kara's breath caught in her throat and she bit the inside of her lip to keep the automatic protest from bursting forth. They were going to take Kacey away from her. She hadn't considered that. She'd been a fool not to.

The smile on the Cylon woman's face grew as Kara remained silent. D'Anna set Kacey down on her feet and gave a small nudge, urging the child towards where Kara stood transfixed. The little girl didn't need any more encouragement, toddling across the short distance and bouncing in front of Kara with arms stretched upwards. Scooping her up and hugging the little body close, Kara knew she'd given the Cylons a lever to use. One she'd never foreseen.

"I'll be back tomorrow after the vote. If you can convince me that you're not such a bad influence, maybe I can talk the others into leaving this munchkin in your care."

"Galactica's changed all her codes and procedures by now. There's nothing useful I can tell you, even if you do manage to catch up with the fleet," Kara said, hoping the woman would believe that Kara didn't really have any valuable information and would leave them alone.

"Oh, I know _that_, Captain. Never really was about getting any usable intel. It just gave us a way of judging your compliance. Figured if you told _those_ secrets, you were finally ready for my real purpose."

A chill passed through Kara as she asked the question D'Anna was obviously expecting, "And that is?"

"Let's just say that Gauis Baltar has been a mite ineffective as a figurehead." D'Anna tapped her finger on the rail of the staircase as she gave Kara a head to toe once over. "Now Starbuck, she's another story altogether. Not sure whatcha got girl, but there's something special about you that I can use. With _you_ to encourage the colonists to cooperate, this stupid insurgency will end."

"You're joking, right?" Kara asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "I'm just a Viper pilot. Not even one of those any more," she protested, especially hating the Toaster's insistence that she was special in some way…_just like her mother._

"What? You think it's my _destiny_ to be some sort of…of…frakkin' puppet?" she demanded.

"No. That's my brother's obsession." D'Anna gave a flick of the hand, obviously dismissing Leoben's dogma as she climbed the stairs, then paused at the top to add, "_We_ just want to use your reputation. It's not a lot we ask. Just say what you're told, then smile and wave to the crowd." The Cylon woman gave a sweep of her hand to indicate the apartment as she continued, "Do it and you keep your little life here all nice and snug." Opening the door, D'Anna called over her shoulder, "I'll be back tomorrow. See you then, Starbuck."

As the latch clicked closed, Kara hugged Kacey firmly to her and began to pace. What was she going to do? She couldn't do what the skin-job demanded, and yet… Could she survive the loss of her child now, on top of everything else. Would Leoben really let them take their daughter away?

She buried her face in Kacey's neck, breathing in the clean scent of the little girl even as two small arms wrapped around Kara's neck and returned the hug.

Lords of Kobol. What was she to do?


	28. Chapter 28  Choice

Chapter 28 Choice

Kara blinked bloodshot eyes at the dusky morning light coming through the living room curtains. Unable to sleep, she'd sat on the sofa holding Kacey as the little girl slept peacefully curled in her arms.

Thinking about the previous day, she recalled Leoben's shock on his return to the apartment and hearing Kara's recounting of D'Anna's ultimatum. The Cylon male had immediately stormed away again, only to return grim and sullen some hours later. His slight headshake was all the answer she needed to know that he'd been unable to persuade the other models to his side.

Kara had tried to pretend for Kacey's sake that everything was fine, yet, as the afternoon wore into evening, the growing knot of fear in her gut was making it more difficult to keep the anxiety from her voice and actions as she played with the child. Over dinner, she'd finally snapped at the chattering little girl to shut up and eat. As two pairs of shocked eyes had met her own, Kara had knocked her chair over backwards scrambling from it, and turned to press herself into the furthest corner, shame pushing the fear aside.

"It's ok, Kara," murmured Leoben into her ear. "We know you didn't mean it."

"It's not…not ok," Kara said without turning her face from the wall. "She always said she didn't mean it either."

"You are not your mother." Hands massaged her tensed shoulders, and Kara knew she should tell him to frak off, should swing around and hit him for touching her. But she couldn't. She needed the comfort he was offering…the forgiveness.

"Come back and finish your dinner," he urged, light fingers wrapping around her elbow as he turned her to face him. "You're upsetting Kacey more by hiding like this. Come and smile for her, Kara. Let her know everything's alright."

She let herself be led back to the table and smiled at her child just like he'd said.

Is this what she was going to have to do for D'Anna, plaster a smile over the shame? Was Kacey worth it? How could she answer that and not betray something she held dear?

Her duty to the fleet or to her daughter?

The cherub face framed by golden locks was raised trustingly to her while the Galactica was likely off to distant parts of the galaxy. She'd been abandoned by the fleet, as had all the colonists on New Caprica. It was obvious that neither Adama was going to return to rescue those that had foolishly settled on this hunk of rock. So, maybe the only viable option left for the humans stuck here was to accept the governance by their enemy—their once enemy.

With these thoughts brawling with her conflicted emotions on the battlefield of her soul, Kara spent the night with Kacey held against her and surrendered to the dawn with a resignation that caused another pillar of her psyche to crumble beneath the inevitable.

An hour later, Galactica returned and the battle for New Caprica began.


	29. Chapter 29  Walls Broken

Chapter 29 Walls Broken

She hung in a fireman's carry over someone's shoulder.

Coming to abruptly, Kara thrashed until she was set on her feet and she recognized one of the ex-Marine's that had settled with the other colonists on New Caprica. Beside the man, relief and anxiety sweeping his face, stood Galen Tyrol.

"Good to see you, Captain. Now let's get the hell outta here," he said, urging her to join the exodus of fleeing ex-prisoners hurrying along the narrow hallway.

Turning her head, Kara frantically searched for Kacey's blonde head.

"Where is she? Where's my daughter? Where's Kacey?" she demanded, looking from one blank face to the other.

"Who?"

"The little girl that was with me. Frak! Nevermind, I'll get her." She snagged the knife from the taller man's utility belt and, turning against the flow of running forms, she dodged around Tyrol and rushed back towards the apartment.

Kara heard voices behind her calling her name, but ignored them as she weaved her way down one corridor, then another, thankful that she remembered this portion of the route that she been led along so many months ago.

"Kacey. Kacey!" Frantically searching the apartment, she called out again, thinking maybe the child was hiding, "Kacey, honey where are you? Kace—" she broke off as Leoben came down the staircase with Kacey's little hand in his.

"I knew you'd be back. I saw it." He moved further down the steps.

Kara slowly approached the pair, eyes moving from Kacey's solemn ones to Leoben's knowing ones.

"Give me Kacey," she said, voice low with the edge of pleading leaking through.

"Say the words." He stepped between the two blondes.

"Let me take her."

"Say them."

"What words?"

"You know what I want. I wanna hear you say them. And the rest of it, just like I told you." Leoben moved another step down so he stood just above the landing.

"Fine... You win." Kara licked her lips and reminded herself they were just words. "I love you."

He closed the distance between them, moving into her intimate space, and Kara kept herself still, resisting the urge to step back.

"Say it again," he demanded.

Just words. They didn't mean anything. Then why did the breath she took feel like a sob?

"I love you," spoken softly and with an ache that might have meant more than surrender.

"Now the rest."

The ache expanded as Kara let the wall she'd kept erected about her vulnerable soul lower. She knew Leoben wouldn't accept a rote declaration from her, either in words or action. Closing her eyes, she sought his mouth, lips trembling just the slightest as she felt his breath. Then she tasted him. Peppermint, from the toothpaste he used. He deepened the kiss and she responded, feeling his tongue invading her mouth and teasing across her own. Palms cupped the sides of her head and he caressed her ear with a thumb.

She pulled back and met his smoldering gaze.

"Was it everything you thought it would be?" Voice breaking as she felt more pieces of herself fall away.

"That and more." He smiled and shook his head slightly. "I'm never gonna forget this moment."

"Neither will I," she huskily whispered, knowing that her capitulation would haunt her on so many levels.

He pushed her back against the wall, both hands about her head as he claimed her mouth again. Her right hand slid under her sweatsuit behind her back and smoothly pulled free the knife she had taken from the ex-Marine. Stabbing forward, Kara drove the blade into Leoben's abdomen, feeling the Cylon male jerk in shock. As their lips separated, a small gasp of pain slipped from his parted ones as Kara gave the knife a vicious twist…

…and then she thrust blade in just a little further.

Leoben started to fall; he tried to hold himself with his grip about Kara's neck, but, as she yanked the knife free, he finally tumbled backwards to sprawl across the dining room carpet.

Desolate eyes clung to the still form of her tormentor for another moment, then Kara's fingers, one by one, released the hilt of the blade and it dropped to the floor, breaking her from the stasis of shock. Her gaze locked with Kacey's and Kara gusted a breath of relief as she scooped the child into her arms, hugging her close. She started up the staircase as Tyrol and his armed escort stepped through the open door.

"Come on, let's go," she said. Cradling her precious armload she brushed by the men where they stood staring down at the body of Cylon below.


	30. Chapter 30 Truth Revealed

Chapter 30 Truth Revealed

Kara held the little girl on her lap throughout the flight on the Raptor. The small ship was crammed to the maximum weight and the ride was rough as they were buffeted by flack and evasive maneuvers. It made conversation all but impossible and Kara was thankful as she tried to gathered her scattered thoughts into a coherent story to tell the Admiral.

She had missed him _so_ much, and she needed…

Frak, she didn't know exactly what she needed, just that she had to speak with Old Man, maybe feel his reassuring arms about her again. And she was both excited and scared at the prospect of introducing him to Kacey. She knew the blonde cherub would have him charmed in no time, and yet…she couldn't completely shove aside the fear of how he'd react when he learned that she had a hybrid child. Her stomach lurched and Kara knew it wasn't due to the rushed landing, the Raptor pilot had done a good job of getting them docked fast and smooth.

Taking a bracing breath, she exited the ship, setting Kacey on the wing while she stepped down, then lifting her again and turning to Tyrol as he directed the refugees. The man met her gaze and they exchanged a smile in greeting that there hadn't been time for before.

Moving closer, Tyrol lightly asked, "And _who_ is this," giving Kacey a grin.

"This is Kac—" she was interrupted as one of the refugee women suddenly rushed forward.

"Kacey? Kacey! Oh my little girl," the woman exclaimed. Kacey reached for the strange woman and was plucked from Kara's arms. As the woman vigorously hugged the blonde bundle, she said, "Mommy missed you so much!"

Turning to Kara, oblivious to her confusion, the woman thanked her repeatedly, sniffing back tears as she explained that the Cylons had taken Kacey weeks ago. With a last 'bless you' she turned and walked away with her giggling child held securely in her arms.

As Kacey and her _real_ mother disappeared into the crowd, they took with them the strut Kara had used to bolster her crumbling psyche. As the shocking realization that Leoben had lied hit her, she could feel the disintegration that had started four months ago begin to cascade as her identity as a mom was shattered and the shards of the lie sliced at the threads she'd clung to since Sam's death.

How frakkin' stupid was she to believe anything the skin-job told her? Just another of Leoben's mind-games. Of course, she wasn't anyone's mother. Someone like her shouldn't even be allowed within ten feet of a kid. Each successive thought struck at Kara like a physical blow, and she stumbled back against the wing of the Raptor for support.

As a few people began calling out _'Adama',_ Kara raised lost eyes to see the Admiral being hoisted onto the shoulders of a couple of crewmembers. Across the distance their eyes locked and she wanted more than anything to feel him stroke her bangs aside and tell her it was all going to be ok now. But he broke the connection without even a smile of acknowledgement. Instead, he looked around, obviously embarrassed by the chanting as it became louder, echoing across the flight deck,

She turned aside then, the Admiral's rebuff snapping the last of her control. Pushing against the tide of people, Kara felt her heart racing and had trouble breathing with the crowd pressing in on her. Head down, biting her lip, she fought the urge to scream curses at those about her as she shoved through the masses. Her stomach twisted as the rising noise crashed against her ears. Finally breaking free from the cheering mob, her breaths coming in short gasps, she lengthened her strides, breaking into a jog, then a full sprint, desperate to get away.

Hardly noticing where she was running, she made her way further into the bay, into the deserted storage area where crates and boxes, stacked five rows deep and several high, lined the walls. All the general storage, spare parts and extra munitions were crammed into this section of Galactica's massive hold.

As her vision blurred, Kara's steps faltered and she bumped the corner of one of the crates. Reaching out with a shaking hand, she stopped to catch her breath and balance. She looked about her with a little more coherence and saw the crate she was leaning against was at the head of a row of similar boxes. Moving into the narrow aisle between the crates, she slunk out of sight from the crowd beyond and shuffled forward, just seeking privacy.

Ahead, and to one side, a darker shadow drew her attention. The shadow resolved into a space formed between two crates that had been poorly stacked, with a third perched on top of the pair to form a five-foot deep by four-foot wide niche. Bending downward, she squinted into the dim recess, then dropped to her knees to crawl forward and turned to sit with her back braced against one crate and bracketed on each side by the others. The near darkness, silence and close confines were comfortingly familiar, like that in her Viper when flowing through deep space.

She _needed _this, this separation, some time to patch together the tattered remains of herself. After months of isolation and torture, the crush of people was more than she could take on the heels of Kacey's loss. People would be expecting the same Starbuck that had left Galactica more than a year ago. If they discovered that that person no longer existed, there'd be questions. They'd expect answers. Answers she couldn't face.

Drawing her legs up, Kara Thrace lowered her head to her knees and strove again to stuff down the feelings and memories of the past months.

What other choice did she have?


	31. Chapter 31 Pushing Onward

Chapter 31 Pushing Onward

Hours later, Kara lifted her head and straightened her legs with a soft moan, feeling the familiar ache of muscles held too long in one position. Shivering slightly, she tried to force her fractured thoughts into some semblance of order.

How long had she been hiding here?

Long enough to get thoroughly chilled and feel the need to pee. Reluctantly, she scooted out from her refuge and stood, still uncertain what her next move should be. Heavy feet carried her forward along the aisle until she could peer cautiously around the box's edge. People had dispersed from the far end of the Flight deck and she could only see a few figures in orange moving among the Raptors. She quietly covered the length of the bay and turned towards the nearest head.

As she exited a stall, a few people greeted her with nods and smiles but she managed to sidle away without getting drawn into conversations. This still left her with no plan, no destination and nobody that was looking for her. The Admiral obviously didn't care anymore—she struggled to shrug the hurt aside—and she'd overheard that the Pegasus had been lost, but Lee had made it. _That_ news touched on so many raw edges that Kara focused on just being thankful for his survival and refused to acknowledge any of the other turbulent emotions.

And then there was Sam, or rather there wasn't.

Sam was gone.

The thought was enough to clench her stomach and she nearly turning back into the head. Instead, she took a breath and held it, willing all the memories of her husband safely back behind the wall she'd built while huddle away in the dark. Once she had locked away the dangerous images, Kara turned right and started walking; hoping the solid bulkheads and low rumble of the Galactica would flood her senses and wash away the lingering ones from the hellhole she'd escaped. So intent on trying to reclaim some semblance of home, she was startled to look up and realize that she stood at the open hatch to the pilots' Ready Room.

As she moved across the threshold, Kara automatically reached out and placed her palm on the pilots' touchstone picture. Though done by rote, it still felt like a tenuous step back into the life she'd thought gone forever.

Wandering down the aisle of seats, she let her hand stroke along the leather tops, remembering all the briefings spent in this room with companions now long gone, but not forgotten. So many bittersweet memories swirled the air and she tried to recapture the eager energy of the days before it all fell apart.

Moving to a seat midway down and in the center of the rows, she slouched down and wrapped her arms about her ribs, lowering her chin to her chest. It was late night; she'd been closed in on herself for nearly twelve hours in her little crate cave. Heat flushed her cheeks as the shame of her panicked reaction earlier coursed through her veins. As if she wasn't screwed up enough, now she was freaking out over being around a bunch of people. Gods, how she missed the foolishly confident and cocky person that use to live within her skin.

_How much more pathetic can I get?_

On that thought, visions and flashes of memory assaulted her, threatening to trigger another panic attack. Kara bent forward over her knees, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes as she fought to shove the images back behind their safely closed curtains.

"…frakkers…frakkin' Toasters!" her voice rose as she shouted at her tormentors for leaving her with so few pieces of herself left to pull back together. The silence of the empty Ready Room mocked her outburst and her breath hitched in and out as she held back the sobs. She wasn't going do this. The frakkers could go to hell; she wasn't going to let them win, wasn't going to fall apart now.

Forcing the roiling feelings down, Kara tried to focus on the assignment board at the front of the room. Not that her name was on it. Not yet, anyways. Tomorrow, or later this morning as it were, she'd go to the quartermaster to report in, get her kit and stuff and get assigned a rack. But the effort was beyond her right now, the fatigue and mental fugue made the task too daunting. She'd just stay here. It was quiet and she was alone.

Wasn't that what she wanted?


	32. Chapter 32 Settling In

Chapter 32 Settling In

Some hours later, hearing footsteps, Kara glanced at the clock on the Ready Room wall. Only one person she could think of would show up here at 04:00 am. Frak. She'd hoped to avoid him until the pilots' briefing. Of course, it's not like she had the vaguest idea when _that_ was. _Good excuse as any_, she decided as an explanation for her presence.

Her eyes clung to Lee as, shuffling through a stack of papers, he made his slow way down to the podium. He obviously hadn't seen her. Kara took the opportunity to study him unobserved. The most prominent change was the weight gain. It didn't suit him, burying the gracefulness he had always moved with in the past. The rounded shoulders could be blamed on fatigue; she doubted that he'd had any sleep in the past forty-eight hours either. The loss of the Pegasus had to also be weighing him down.

Watching him run a hand through his hair, ruffling the longer locks, Kara poignantly recalled their night together on New Caprica. As she inhaled sharply in bitter regret at the cost of her actions, Lee must have heard her for he suddenly spun around. As she stood to reveal herself, an expression of elation crossed his face and was gone again so quickly that Kara wasn't sure that it had even been there as his brows lowered and his features settled into icy disdain.

"Thrace," he said, voice as chilled as his blue eyes.

Well, if she'd had any doubts about what type of reception she'd get from this quarter, it was smeared away by his greeting.

"Sir," she replied flatly, too little of Starbuck left to rise to his biting use of her last name.

They stared at each, separated by only fifteen feet physically and a vast gulf emotionally. She dropped her eyes first, looking at the fingers she was twisting together. It wasn't as if she had expected anything else from him. Her frak-up this time had destroyed even the tenuous friendship they'd maintained up until New Caprica. She certainly deserved any scorn he wanted to heap on her.

As he cleared his throat, she glanced up and saw him turn his back and continue to the raised platform and lay the papers on the podium. Without looking up he said, "Pilots' briefing will be at 08:00 this morning. If you're late, you'll spend the rest of the day in the brig. Dismissed."

She took a last moment to study his bent head, mourning all the little things that use to be between Starbuck and Apollo. Kara had royally screwed up even _that_ relationship. With crossed arms, she hurried from the room; and if she stumbled a little, it was from eyes blurry from lack of sleep, not the tears she had to blink away.

By the time she reached the quartermaster's station, she'd managed to dredge up enough bitterness to sustain a characteristic Starbuck glower at the harassed Staff Sergeant behind the desk. The lean man peered up through smudged spectacles when Kara leaned forward on his desk.

"Thrace, Kara. Right…" He thumbed through the lists and tapped a forefinger on the sheet. Twisting slightly in his seat, he called over his shoulder to a youngster that couldn't have been older than thirteen. "T133B, Pauly," and gave a nod as the boy set aside the blankets he'd been stacking to hurry off.

Taking off his glasses, the man rubbed at them with the hem of his partly untucked BDU top. Once he had replaced them, he gave Starbuck a weary smile and said, "Glad ya made it back, Sir. Kinda late checking in. Got most everyone racked up last night." He pulled over another list, muttering over it before scratching a mark and returning his now somewhat nervous gaze to her. "Bout the only thing left in Pilot Country is in the overflow quarters. Mostly Pegasus and nuggets. Sorry can't getcha your old bunk back, Sir." He shrugged, though it looked a little stiff like he was afraid she'd let loose the infamous Starbuck temper on him at the news.

"It's ok, Sarge. Anything's better than where I've been," she assured the man, then wished she hadn't as speculation lifted his brows. Her own drew together in a frown that was sufficient to quell any questions he might have been about to ask. He silently slid the slip of paper with her rack & locker number on it across the desk then swiveled around as Pauly returned with a box clutched to his chest.

After reclaiming her few possessions and the standard-issue kit, Kara made her way to the assigned bunkroom. Exchanging only nods to the two Raptor pilots that were up and seated at the table in the room, she quietly stowed her gear, then sprawled across her bunk and closed the privacy curtain, not bothering to switch on the racklight.

She wasn't worried about falling asleep and missing the pilot briefing. Sleep was going to be elusive for the foreseeable future, that and eating. She wasn't hungry, not with the uneasy nausea in her stomach causing her lip to curl at the thought of trying to choke down anything. Rubbing at her eyes with thumb and forefinger, Kara tried to recall when she _had_ last had a meal.

Breakfast yesterday with Leoben…

…and Kacey.


	33. Chapter 33 Protocols

Chapter 33 Protocols

She _was_ almost late for the pilot briefing, scooting into one of the rear seats as the hand of the clock made its last ticks to the hour mark. Her delayed arrival wasn't because she'd fallen asleep, but due to the lethargy that made dragging herself from the bunk and getting dressed take twice as long as it should have. She skipped showering, lacking the energy to bother. Besides, everyone knew Starbuck considered hygiene optional.

In the mess, bent over a bowl of what passed for breakfast, she had forced herself to swallow at least a few spoonfuls before shoving the rest towards the center of the small table she occupied alone. Then, while sitting and staring at the congealing contents, she lost track of time. Not much, but enough that when one of the Raptor pilots from her bunkroom called over his shoulder that she'd better hurry, she jerked and, looking up at the clock, was startled to see that some twenty minutes had slipped by and she _was_ going to have to hustle or see if Apollo was really serious about his earlier threat of brig time.

As she settled into the seat, Kara saw that his eyes were on her and the displeasure was easy to read even from this distance. _Right. Not like I've a chance of getting on his good side,_ she grimaced to herself. _Well, frak him._ Lowering her head, she avoided looking up throughout most of the rest of the meeting.

After a half hour of reviewing the fleet's current readiness status, CAP schedules for the day, and new protocols, Apollo introduced the reintegration plan for the returning Galactica personnel—the pilots in particular. Kara did glance up then, but the CAG was focused on the papers in front of him.

"Anyone returning to active duty needs to get me their medical clearance before the evening CAP shift. Also be prepared for a review and re-certification session tomorrow immediately after the morning briefing which will be at 06:00 sharp going forward." He abruptly raised his eyes and caught Starbuck staring at him across the heads of those between. "Anyone without an all clear from Cottle shouldn't bother to show up in the morning," his words spoken to all, but directed at her.

At a time in the past she might have flicked him a one-fingered salute or snorted in acknowledgment. Now, she just ducked her head and went back to the finger exercises she'd fallen into the habit of doing when needing a distraction.

When Apollo dismissed the room, Kara was the first through the door and striding away down the corridor to avoid any fellow pilots that might have wanted to speak with her. With no duty assignment, and wanting to avoid the places acquaintances were most likely frequent, she set a course for sickbay.

If Lee was going to be a hardass about getting a sign-off by the Doc, Kara decided the sooner she got it out of the way the better. Besides, she wanted to see if she could time it to get someone other than Cottle to do her exam. The damn man was too observant, knew her too well. And more importantly, he'd been on New Caprica so it was a good bet that he knew she'd been held by the Toasters. Getting her medical clearance without having to answer a lot of awkward questions was only going to be possible if she could avoid him entirely.

Entering the too familiar medical bay, Kara dodged orderlies as they hustled about in the controlled chaos that was sickbay after a major engagement. She side-stepped out of the way as she surveyed the casualties of their exodus from New Caprica. Every bed, and a few spots along the wall, were filled with injured people.

After all their encounters with the Cylons, the human wreckage the war left in its wake was nearly old hat for her.

Yet this…

All these people hurt and dying. All those they'd lost on the planet. All so frakkin' unnecessary. If that traitor Baltar hadn't forced the colonization and left them vulnerable to the Cylons' return, so many lives wouldn't have been lost.

Taking in all the damage, she felt the thrum of anger and the need to be back in her Viper, blowing away the frakkers that had caused so much harm. And for that, she needed to snag someone…

Searching the busy personnel, she spotted her target just leaving a curtained bed. She pushed away from the bulkhead and steered an intercept course for the Doc's head assistant, Lieutenant Ishay.

The harried-looking woman paused as her path was blocked, giving Kara a once over, probably wondering why she was here since she appeared uninjured.

"The CAG's insisting on a medical all clear for us returning from the planet," Starbuck said with a shrug, and then gave a conspiratorial wink as she added, "What's say you sign my little slip and I'll clear outta your way?"

The assistant might not be Cottle, but she wasn't a pushover either. She crossed her arms and gave Kara a more thorough perusal, obviously suspecting that the notorious Starbuck was trying to cover something up. Kara sighed and realized that she was going to have to submit to at least a brief physical.

Deciding that appearing cooperative was her best bet, she said, "Hey, whatever. Just thought you guys looked busy. And Apollo's insisting on doing this today." Another shrug.

Ishay glanced at her watch and swept the room with a practiced eye before turning back to Kara with an impatient sigh.

"Come along, Captain." She jerked her head for Kara to follow. "Let's see if we can't get this done before I'm needed." The scrubs-clad woman snagged a tray of instruments and hustled Kara into Cottle's private office, closing the door behind them. "Off with the shirt and pants, and have a seat," she said with a tired nod towards the stool as she set the tray on the doctor's desk, precariously perching it on a stack of charts.

Kara hesitated for only the briefest moment then tugged her double tanks off and undid her boots, kicking them and the BDU pants aside as she took her place on the indicated seat.

As Ishay went through her list of medical questions, Starbuck kept her expression that of resigned impatience, answering as briefly a possible. She admitted that she'd been knocked unconscious the previous day, but no headache or dizziness today. Yes, her knee was fine. Yes, she'd eaten breakfast that morning. Ishay was obviously concerned about how much weight Kara had dropped.

Once the blood draw was done, Ishay picked up the stethoscope and went to place it on Kara's back to listen to lung sounds. Kara felt the other woman stiffen at her side and knew she'd seen the two fading scars. Nothing now to do but lie. She kept herself still as the other woman lightly traced with a fingertip one of the marks that ran from her shoulder blade to opposite hip.

"What?" Starbuck asked, craning her head, faking curiosity over the nurse's discovery.

"You've two new scars back here, Captain Thrace. How'd you get them?" Ishay moved to face Kara and her eyes looked uncertain for the first time since Kara waylaid her.

"The two gashes back there? Was setting up a tent and some frakker hadn't secured their end. Damn pole caught me as it collapsed," she nonchalantly explained, adding, "It healed up fine and happened a while back. Forgot all about it. Why, something wrong?" She widened her eyes slightly, trying to look vaguely worried and innocent in one.

Ishay studied her for a moment longer, then gave a shake of her head. "No… Like you said. It's healed well. Given time, the scars will probably fade completely."

Kara let her breath ease out. She'd know that those marks were the most likely things—short of what an x-ray might reveal—to lead to difficult questions. She breathed in and out when commanded, and had just completed a few moves to prove her legs' strength and flexibility when the office door burst open. A younger woman looked relieved to have found Ishay and oblivious to Kara's state of undress.

"Private Phelps' pulled his IV out again and I can't get the central line in on bed three and the doctor's still in surgery," the nurse said, looking harassed and exhausted.

"Ok, see about getting Adams to help you put restraints on Phelps, and I'll be right there," Ishay instructed before turning back to Kara. The senior assistant scrubbed at her face, and then said, "Look, I've got to go… You're significantly underweight, Captain, and we both know how important muscle mass is for a Viper pilot. You promise to hit the gym and eat three regulars a day and I'll sign off on your form."

"It's a deal," Starbuck said, relieved that she was being kicked loose without any further delving by the suspicious assistant. Pulling on her clothes, she reached for the proffered medical release but was startled when Ishay didn't immediately release the slip of paper.

_Frak, now what?_

"I still have to run your bloodwork. I'm not going to find any surprises, am I?" Ishay asked, eyes narrowing on Kara's green ones.

"Nothing that wasn't there before," she answered, tucking the get-out-of-sickbay-free slip away in her pocket.

As Kara relaced her boots, she heard Ishay call over her shoulder as the other woman hurried out, "Glad you're back and good hunting, Starbuck."

Kara sat for a minute absorbing the woman's words, wondering why she suddenly felt tears pricking her eyes.

Then she knew.

Those words were exactly the ones she longed to hear. They just hadn't come from any of the people she most needed to say them.


	34. Chapter 34 Space

Chapter 34 Space

Sitting in the cockpit the next morning, waiting for the clearance to launch, Starbuck flexed her hands, the vague fear that had been haunting her since the Six had threatened her with the loss of her hands surged forward again. What if there's nerve damage? What if she's lost the touch that distinguished her flying, made her the best, then what?

She stretched her gloved fingers again before taking a firm grip on the stick and shutting out everything but the voice of the LOS as he gave her the all clear and initiated the launch sequence. The familiar G-force shoved her back in her seat as the Viper was propelled from Galactica's bulk and into the vastness of space.

Tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, she tested the bird's reaction to her control. A relieved sigh escaped her as the ship responded to her caress.

Then a voice crackled over the comm, "Starbuck, Apollo. Stop frakking around and form up on my wing." His clipped voice confirmed for her that even out here, where Starbuck and Apollo had always found harmony, those days were a thing of the past. Pain flicked her own anger to the surface.

"Copy that Apollo," she replied, tone equally chilly as she slipped into the wingman's slot.

They spun through basic, and then increasingly more difficult maneuvers, with only the minimum of comm chatter between them, all exchanged in the same curt tones. By the time she set her Viper down on the deck again, all the joy she'd initially had felt at her return to the cockpit had been sucked away by Apollo's disparaging manner.

Kara had hoped that at least in flying together they might achieve a truce. She was already feeling raw after he had pointedly ignored her throughout the entire pilots' briefing that morning. Reporting to the hanger bay for the re-certification testing, she'd tried to catch his gaze, but he had kept his eyes on the clipboard as he'd stated their order of testing. "Starbuck, you're first," had been his only acknowledgment of her presence before striding off to his own ship.

Now, waiting for the crew to move her back to the flight deck, she stared at her hands, realizing that though _they_ were undamaged, the Cylons had crippled her in too many other ways to count. And what the Toasters hadn't broken, she had already destroyed before ever settling on New Caprica.

She'd been a fool to think she'd be allowed to make reparations and things could return to the status quo. Lee hated her. The Admiral hadn't sought her out, and Helo, well, she guessed that he was too busy playing house with his Toaster to come looking for her. And now there was no Starbuck and Apollo either, just clipped bitterness as cold as the space they'd flown through.

Stepping from the cockpit, she ignored the Chief's 'welcome back' and silently signed off his checklist before walking away without ever looking over to where Lee was climbing from his own ship. She knew she'd passed the testing, so there was nothing else to say between them.

She didn't know that a pair of conflicted blue eyes hungrily followed her receding form.


	35. Chapter 35 Tainted

Chapter 35 Tainted

Kara sat in the mess at a table by herself, head propped up by a palm at her temple. She was poking disinterestedly at her dinner, a meal of some kind of fake meatloaf and reconstituted potatoes when a tray clinked against hers, and she looked up as Helo took the seat beside her. It was the first time they'd been together since her return to Galactica three days ago.

Karl's grin spread to his eyes as he gave her meatloaf a poke with his own fork and said, "I think it's already dead, Starbuck. Probably safe to eat it now."

"Like you'd know." She swatted his fork aside with her own and said, "Put anything on your plate, call it food and you'd eat it. No accounting for taste with you, Helo." His eyes darted to hers as his gaze narrowed, and Kara realized that he might have misconstrued her comment. She grimaced; she hadn't meant his taste in companions, though now that she thought about it, her stomach _did _twist at the image of him with his Cylon lover.

"Yeah, well," he hedged as he speared a green stalk off his own plate and waved it before her, "You should eat your vegetables like a good little officer, Starbuck. They'll make you strong and put hair on your chest," he said, his tone teasing as he let the uncomfortable moment pass.

"Right, like I need hair _there_. It's enough already having to shave my legs," she said, feeling a little better as Karl's presence soothed an ache she couldn't identify. The Lords knew how much she'd missed the big lug. Feeling the heaviness that had been weighting her down lift slightly in his presence, she scooped up a forkful of the potato mixture and managed to swallow the bland mouthful.

"Don't know why you'd bother shaving, Starbuck. I've always liked running my feet up the hairy legs of a pretty girl. It kinda tickles my toes, you know," he mumbled, trying to talk and munch the undercooked greens at the same time.

The ache returned in force as Kara wondered if the skin-job now known as Athena bothered to shave. Assuming that Cylons even had to worry about things like unwanted hair growth. She stabbed a section of meatloaf and shoved into her mouth before she could voice one of the less kindly thoughts she was having at that moment. She could feel her friend's sidelong glances as she kept her head bent over the tray, pretending to a hunger she hadn't felt since the return of the Cylons into her life over four months past now. Each swallow was a struggle but it was better than letting Helo see the bitter hate she knew was reflected in her eyes as his presence stirred up its own reminder of her time in captivity.

"Hey, slow down there, Starbuck. No one's gonna to steal your food," he said, and she felt him lean a little closer, yet refused to raise her head and meet his eyes.

With her plate now half empty, Kara decided that she'd eaten enough to be convincing, so she rose and picked up the tray.

"Gotta go, Helo. I'll see you around later," she said, keeping her tone light as she dropped her half-finished dinner at the wash-up station and exited the mess hall.

Walking away as fast as she could from her long time friend, Kara bitterly came to the conclusion that the Cylons had tainted every good thing in her life.

Or maybe it was just _her_ that they had tainted.


	36. Chapter 36 Stumbling

Chapter 36 Stumbling

Kara shot up in her bunk, her panicked eyes darting around the curtained interior. She drew in gasping breaths as she realized that she was on the Galactica and not still in the New Caprican apartment or cell. Knowing she wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep, she pushed aside her privacy drape and climbed as silently as she could from her rack.

Not that she had needed to bother she realized as she saw the other occupants of her quarters staring at her through sleep-interrupted eyes. Suddenly she knew that she must have screamed, waking her bunkmates…yet again.

With a mumbled, "Sorry," and averted eyes, she quickly pulled on her sweatpants and tank, then fled from the stares.

The head was blessedly empty when she entered, this time of the third shift it usually was. Kara splashed water on her face, trying to wash away the last of the nightmare and the looks it had earned her. Back five days, and five nights' running she'd had to fight free from the grasp of nightmares.

_Gods, not again, _she thought, staring at her haunted reflection in the mirror. The other dreams, the ones where Six stood gloatingly over her or beat her while Kara hung helpless, seemed mild by comparison.

But, whenever the hands returned…

Kara suddenly turned and bolted into a stall, barely making it before vomiting into the metal toilet. Leaning against its rim, she waited as her gut threatened to convulse once more. A few minutes passed before she finally decided that her rebellious stomach was not going to betray her again and she shuffled back to the sink to rinse her mouth of the bile and taste of her self-revulsion.

The Star Chamber was suppose to assuage her building rage and revulsion. It had done neither. Kara had seen Gaeta as a viable target for all the bitterness that was twisting her up inside, but when he was revealed as the Resistance's source, her need to make someone pay was denied. Again she was forced to swallow down the impotent rage, and it continued to gnaw at her.

And sometimes the rancor just wouldn't stay down.

After scrubbing her face dry, she tossed the towel in the bin and and exited the head, but paused as she looked up and down the nearly deserted corridors. Going back to her rack was useless; there wouldn't be any more sleep for her tonight. And if she went to the hanger deck at this hour it would only raise unwanted questions.

Finally deciding on the gym, Kara remained there the rest of the night, pounding the punching bag as anger and revulsion seesawed her emotions. When her hands were too sore to continue beating at the memories, she switched to weights, working to rebuild the muscle she'd lost.

The exercise should have blunted the growing rage, but it only left her cranky and sore.

Some seven hours later, she stood on the flight deck surveying the damage to her Viper after she had disobeyed Apollo's order to maintain position and, as a result, had collided with another ship.

Apollo stormed up to her in all his righteous anger and promptly grounded her. But not before she'd listened to him suggest that he airlock her. She had bitten down on her lip—and own rage—as he had stalked away.

She had frakked up again.

Life as usual in the Thrace universe.


	37. Chapter 37 Here & There

Chapter 37 Here & There

Since she was grounded, Apollo assigned her to a full maintenance shift with the knuckledraggers. She kept to herself, silently acknowledging the Chief's instructions and mostly working alone.

Standing in the hanger bay with all the usual bustle, bodies and noise, Kara thought she hadn't even felt this isolated locked back in that dollhouse. She looked down at the wrench in her hand and over to the row of sleekly waiting Vipers and felt the loneliness shiver aside before her growing anger.

_Frakkin' Apollo. Like he's never had an accident before._

She tossed the tool aside with more force then she'd intended and the clatter turned heads her way. Averting her eyes, Kara climbed into the Raptor she was working on and fought to tamp down her building rage. With a sigh, she eventually stepped to the hatch again. That's when she saw the tall crewman walking towards her group of ships, negligently swing a black fan-belt at his side.

Scrambling backwards, Kara pressed herself into the corner of Raptor and shook as a different figure transposed over the image of the young man…

_A tall blonde—a Six—coming at her, slapping a belt against her thigh and grinning with anticipation… _

Shudders swept a layer of clammy sweat along Kara's skin as the blocked wall of memory briefly lowered and she flashed back to the cell. The images of the crewman, a Cylon and her mother kept superimposing over each other, leaving Kara reeling.

She clamped her eyes shut and bit down on her lip, tasting the familiar flavor of her own blood again. It was enough to steady her. Enough to shut down the overwhelming kaleidoscope of images. She sat for another few minutes, willing her breathing back to normal before dragging herself upright. Steeling herself, Kara stepped out of the hatch and apprehensively looked around, but the young man was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, she saw Cally heading this way with her ready smile and warm eyes peeking beneath brown bangs. The small Specialist was a favorite of Kara's. Her knowledge of Vipers was nearly on par with the Chief's and she was one of the few knuckledraggers that Starbuck trusted without reservation, at least when it came to caring for her bird. She felt ridiculously glad Cally had survived the Occupation, though she'd heard through the grapevine that it'd been a close thing.

The memory of Cally, belly immense at some eight months pregnant, standing alongside her bearded husband and shouting a crowd to silence reminded Kara why she liked the feisty woman. But, despite her feelings, the last thing Kara wanted right now was to chit-chat with the younger woman. She still felt shaken by the violent flashback and just wanted a chance to go off and recover.

So, she was rather abrupt as she greeted the Specialist with a, "What now?"

"Uh," Cally faltered, obviously thrown by the brusque question. She owlishly blinked twice then said, "Just checking on how you're coming along, Captain. Chief said you're changing out the Henderson Shaft on your own, and I know that can be a bitch…uh, sorry, Sir." As Starbuck gave her a wave to continue, "It's a tricky replacement, I meant, on your own, that's all. Thought I'd see if I could give you a hand?"

"Nope. All done." Kara forced her lips into a smile, but had a feeling she wasn't fooling Cally as the younger woman gave her a peculiar look.

"Oh, ok then. Well, Chief said break for lunch once we're finished, so guess that's now. Want to join me?" she asked, tone hopeful with a hint of an undertone it took a moment for Kara to place. Concern. Cally was worried. Frak, had she see Kara's reaction earlier?

With even more reason now to get away from the brunette, Kara said, "No, I've other plans," again more sharply than she'd intended. At the hurt look in the brown eyes, Kara backpedaled some. "Look, maybe tomorrow, ok?"

"Sure, Sir. See you later than," Cally said and turned and walked away, but Kara saw her cast a brief glance backwards before Kara turned to stride off in the opposite direction.


	38. Chapter 38 Routines

Chapter 38 Routines

Kara had a run-in with Kacey and her mother when the other woman showed up in the pilots' bunkroom saying that her daughter had been asking after her. Barely able to even look at the bright-eyed child, Kara had made it clear to the woman that she didn't want to have anything to do with them.

Sleeping continued to be a problem. Every night she woke in a cold sweat, fists clenched in the twisted sheets and gasping as she tried to ground herself back in the present. Sometimes she remembered the dreams, usually those were framed by pain and fear. At other times, the images faded so quickly back behind the curtains that blocked sections of her memories that she was just left with the acidic taste of loathing and an abiding aversion to remember whatever it was she'd locked away.

After the first week of listening to her bunkmates grumble about her rousing them with her nightmares, Kara fell into a new routine. Rather than join the others in the rec room after a shift at Viper maintenance, she'd return in the late afternoon to her bunk and sack out for a few hours, knowing that she'd likely have some privacy while the others were off eating dinner and finding whatever recreation they could on the battlestar. With that privacy, at least she was sure not to wake anyone if—_when_—the nightmares roused her again. The sounds of their returning in the early evening invariably woke her, and she'd spend about an hour pushing around a late dinner before heading over to the rec room for a night filled with cards and booze.

Those nights when Colonel Tigh joined the game, more than alcohol spilled from their lips as Starbuck's and Tigh's bitterness splashed onto those gathered in the room. Always the last to leave the table, Kara would then head off to the gym furthest from the crews' quarters and workout until exhaustion and alcohol had numbed her enough that she could sprawl out on a workout bench and sleep a couple more hours. So far she'd managed to drag herself up early enough each morning to quietly return to her bed before reveille.

Kara knew she wasn't fooling anybody, but at least this way people could pretend, and she wasn't disturbing the sleep her crewmates needed to do their job. Last thing she wanted was to know that any pilot was flying CAP exhausted because she'd kept them up at night.


	39. Chapter 39 Encounter

Chapter 39 Encounter

Ten days had passed now since their escape from New Caprica and Kara knew she was spiraling down, but was finding it difficult to care anymore. That evening, or very early the next day depending on how you figured it, Kara found it was all she could do to brace her hands on the card table and push herself upright. The other crewmembers, including a weaving Tigh, had gone off to their racks some time ago, leaving her to finish the second bottle of the Chief's latest batch of rotgut on her own.

She had sought out the nightly triad game, and accompanying booze, with the hope to drink enough to keep the nightmares away tonight and sleep in her own rack for a change. She was so frakkin' tired, yet didn't want to close her eyes. And it was humiliating, not being able to sleep because the thought of dreaming terrified her. So, tonight she was determined to get so soused that her brain would give them _all_ a night off.

And if it worked, then great! After all, it wasn't like she had to worry about being flight ready. Guess there were _some_ benefits to being grounded.

Stumbling into the corridor, Starbuck paused, leaning heavily on the bulkhead as she tried to remember where it was she was going. The main gym was just across the way, and seeing it stirred a longing. She and Helo had spent a lot of hours in there together, working out and just being friends. Gods, she missed him. Wanted to see him. He might know what to do with her frakked up head.

She wove her way down the deserted hallway, proud that she only bounced off the bulkhead twice on her trek to Helo's shared quarters. Pounding on the hatch, she forgot for a moment why she was here. Right, yeah…Helo. When the metal door was finally opened a few inches, it wasn't her tall friend peering cautiously out. Nope, not her luck… It was the Toaster wife... The fake woman he'd shacked up with. Frak. Just her great frakkin' luck.

"Helo here," Kara said, only slurring a little as she pushed the hatch open and stumbled inside, not waiting for Sharon to invite her in.

"What the frak, Kara? It's 3 am." the petite brunette grumbled as she ran a hand through her tousled hair and glared.

Ignoring her, Kara squinted about the tiny cabin before turning back to face the Cylon woman. "Where is he? Where's Karl?" she demanded, the slurring getting worse in her frustration at his absence.

"He's pulling third shift this week." Sharon moved closer to Kara, giving her a once over and frowning. "You're trashed, Starbuck. You should go sleep it off."

The beast of anger that had been denied a legitimate target stalked from the fog of alcohol.

"Shuddup! Don' take orders from frakk'n Toasters. No more," she snarled while jabbing a finger into Sharon's chest for emphasis. Kara's eyes narrowed as anger surged past the shaky barriers she'd been holding in place since her rescue. This skin-job was just like the others, thought she was better than everyone else, thought she could tell her what to do and she'd just roll over and take it. Take it like she had in that hellhole. Like she had with…

Kara abruptly slammed against the wall of those particular memories, then refocused on the Boomer-shaped Eight blurring in front of her. No. No frakk'n more. She felt the rage narrow her vision to the Cylon woman, rimming everything in red as she leaned in at the smaller figure.

[ I I I I I ]

Sharon's unease ratcheted up as Kara loomed over her, menace oozing from the blonde's pores along with the strong smell of booze. Finding a _very_ drunk Starbuck on her doorstep in the middle of the night was disconcerting enough, but facing the volatile woman as rage darkened her jade eyes was a level of 'not good' beyond which she wanted to handle on her own. What a time for Karl to be stuck in CIC covering for a sick crewman.

"Back off right now, _Captain_," she said, hoping the use of Kara's rank might get through to the inebriated woman.

Unfortunately, it only seemed to enrage her more.

How someone as drunk as Starbuck obviously was could move so fast, Sharon didn't know, but she found herself slammed up against the wall with Kara's hands about her throat, squeezing as she yelled in Sharon's face.

"_Don't tell me what to do, frakk'n Toaster. Told you to SHUT THE FRAK UP!"_ Kara's face was flushed as she tightened her hold, and Sharon felt fear as it became painfully difficult to breathe. This woman might _look_ like Starbuck, but the contorted face and glazed eyes held nothing of the Kara she remembered from before New Caprica. Sharon suddenly knew she was in real danger. Sure, if she died now, she'd download on some basestar, but that was an unacceptable outcome.

Swinging both arms around and down at once, Sharon drove her elbows into the bend of Kara's arms, breaking the chokehold. She reversed directions and shot her right fist into an uppercut that snapped the blonde head back and dropped Kara to the floor, unconscious.

Sharon coughed and rubbed at her sore neck as she stared at the still form at her feet, wondering what the hell to do now. She hadn't planned to knock her out, only to break free. Considering how much Starbuck obviously had had to drink, it wasn't surprising that the single blow had laid her out cold, though.

What to do with her now? Sharon knew she _should_ call a guard and have her taken to the brig. But that would make the attack an official assault, with all the messy complications that'd ensue. No. Last thing either of them needed was negative attention from the powers-that-be. She'd worked too damned hard earning the Admiral's trust to risk it now, and knowing how he felt about Kara, it _was_ a risk that he might blame Sharon for any trouble between them.

Deciding on a course of action, Sharon got a wet cloth and wiped Kara's face, seeing the eyelashes flicker. Tossing the rag aside, she gave a few light slaps that roused the blonde enough that Sharon was able to heave her upright and support the majority of her weight as they stumbled back to the pilot's bunkroom.

Sneaking into the quiet cabin, Sharon winced as Kara's head knocked against the bunk's edge as she lowered the woman onto the bed. Starbuck was going to have the mother of hangovers in the morning and Sharon wondered if she'd even remember her visit to Helo's quarters. Might be best for them both if she didn't. She hated the thought of coming between her husband and his friend, and she knew that Karl would choose her if it ever came to it, yet, she also knew how much it would hurt him to turn his back on Kara.

Sharon put her hands on her hips and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed them. The bunkroom was thankfully silent except for the sounds of deep breathing and the occasional rustle of blankets as their occupants shifted. Standing in this room where so many memories from Boomer's previous life involved the blonde woman before her, Sharon's own anger at Kara leached away.

With a quiet sigh, she undid the laces and removed Starbuck's military boots, setting them carefully beside her rack where they'd be easily found later. Snagging the rumpled blanket from the foot of the bed, Sharon draped it over the still form, then left, feeling she'd done all she could for the troubled woman she'd once called a friend.


	40. Chapter 40 Hangovers

Chapter 40 Hangovers

The next day Starbuck swore off booze.

If anyone had ever suggested she do it, she'd have laughed in their face right before giving them a well deserved black eye. But when she awoke late in the morning with the headache from hell and stomach to match, it hadn't taken much to convince her that consuming the better part of two bottles was a little excessive, even for her.

But it wasn't how horribly sick she felt that decided Kara that abstinence was the way to go. No. It was as she stood under the tepid spray of water and memories of the previous night slowly surfaced that she realized that alcohol might have ensured her a dreamless sleep, but it had also led her to seek Helo out last night. Her memories were pretty fragmented; what she _did_ recall was that she'd gone looking for her tall friend with the intent of laying all her dirty secrets at his feet to sort out.

What a disaster _that_ would have been!

Sober, she had no delusions that once he'd heard what she'd done while held by the Cylons, she'd be less the last person in this world that gave a damn about her. As she touched a sore spot on her chin, another image flickered forward. Blinking shower water from her eyes, and hoping to clear her confused thoughts, she fought to make some sense of the vision of Sharon pressed to the wall with hands wrapped around her throat. Closing her eyes, Kara felt conflicting emotions build as she tried to concentrate on the elusive picture. Her eyes snapped open and she jerked out from beneath the spray as the memory clicked into focus. _She_ was choking Sharon. It was _her_ hands that sought to crush the Cylon woman's throat.

She fell back against the shower wall and pressed her palms to her throbbing temples. It was Leoben all over again. The build up of rage until she lashed out and killed him. Only he wasn't here now…and she'd turned to another target.

On the waves of that realization, the blocked memory of engulfing anger came flooding in…

_She and Leoben had just finished another silent breakfast and she was standing at the sink, dish in hand when his touch on her elbow let loose the pacing beast of her rage… _

Her mind replayed the attack that had left the Cylon male a pulped mess.

_She turned on him with a snarl. Her first hit immediately incapacitating him as the plate edge struck his vulnerable throat. He'd dropped to his knees, clutching and choking. Her second strike, a kick to the face, laid him out on the kitchen floor with blood spurting from a broken nose. Follow-up kicks blurred one into another as she stomped at the exposed face and chest, a berserk rage consuming her until she'd abruptly halted with her foot still held aloft as the fog of fury finally lifted enough for her to see the wreckage of the Cylon's body before her... _

Slumped against the shower partition, Kara could still hear the moist thumps her heel had made as she had stomped down, over and over until his face and torso had partially caved in and were practically unrecognizable. The memory of the crunch of his trachea beneath her sole made her stomach give a convulsive lurch and Kara retched, eyes closed as she tried to expel the memory along with the contents of her stomach.

Opening her eyes, she watched the water from the shower wash the vomit down the drain. The drain pushed another image to the surface, of another time she had trampl—

The vision abruptly broke off and Kara jerked her head up with a gasp, shudders shook her and she quickly stepped back under the stream of the shower spray. She cranked the temperature up and let the painfully hot water cascade over her, attempting to scald the revulsion and panic from her skin and mind.

When she finally turned the faucets off, her calmer thoughts flowed back to Sharon and the night before, and Kara realized that she had attacked the Cylon woman, but couldn't remember why or what happened afterwards. Only her own rage and the fear in the brown eyes were clear in her mind. Well, she wasn't gonna apologize to the skin-job. And since Sharon had probably told Helo, he wasn't likely to be a sympathetic ear now…even if she _had_ wanted to seek him out.

"Right. No more booze," she muttered out loud as she wrapped the towel around her overheated body. She couldn't risk losing control again, and was afraid she might go to Karl and beg him for forgiveness if she did. She'd had enough of begging in the detention center. So he, along with Sharon, Apollo, the Admiral and the rest of the whole frakkin' ship could just go to hell before she'd sink that low again.


	41. Chapter 41 Concerns

Chapter 41 Concerns

After finishing her shower, Kara skipped the breakfast she was too nauseous to eat anyways and hurried to the flight deck, already late for her mid-morning work shift. The Chief just gave a non-committal nod at her mumbled excuse before sending her to join Cally on repairing the weapons system on one of the Raptors.

The two women had worked mostly in silence for about an hour when a short in the ship's guidance system suddenly jolted Kara. The electrical shock sent a stinging current through her bare hand, rocking her back a step.

The flight deck coalesced into a room where…

_Simon was leaning over her adjusting electrodes and giving her his blatantly fake smile. She could see Six was off to the side, then fire raced along her nerve endings and pain exploded her thoughts outward…_

Kara rapidly blinked as she distantly heard Cally calling her name, the younger woman's voice rising with each repetition. Kara's dazed eyes dropped to her shaking hands and she felt her lungs laboring for air. When Cally touched her elbow, she recoiled but managed to focus on what the younger woman was saying.

"Hey, you ok? Starbuck?" the Specialist asked, voice practically pleading for reassurance. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I forgot to turn off the sublet junction relay… You don't look so good," she moved closer to Kara, worry creasing her brow beneath the long bangs, "Maybe you should sit down," Cally said, reaching towards her again.

Kara shoved out with both hands, knocking the smaller woman backwards. As Cally stumbled against the Raptor's wing and fell sideways to the ground, Kara saw the surprised looked in her eyes and retreated a step herself as Cally scrambled to her feet, young face flushing with embarrassment.

"Captain!"

Starbuck's head whipped to the side as the Chief hurried over. She took another step backward, away from the advancing man. Tyrol halted at her retreat, looking between the two women, his face tight.

"It was my fault, Chief," Cally quickly spoke up. "I forgot to disable a relay and the Captain got shocked," she explained, face reddening even further.

"Captain Thrace, are you sure you're ok?" the Chief's voice was quiet as he took another step towards Kara. Again he halted as she retreated an equal distance.

A flicker of motion beyond the Chief's shoulder caught Kara's eyes and she saw Apollo looking over towards them. As the CAG took a hesitant step in their direction, she dropped her gaze and forced her throat to unlock enough to say, "Yeah, Chief. Look, I gotta go." Then she turned and hurried from the hanger bay.

[ I I I I I ]

Galen looked over at his wife, carefully surveying her for any evidence of injury.

"You're not hurt?" he asked, voice low as he noticed the approaching Major.

"I'm fine. It was just a push. She got hurt worse than me, and it was my fault," Cally hurriedly mumbled in response, then gave an innocently inquiringly look at Lee Adama as the Major stopped in front of the pair.

"Chief, what just happened?" the CAG asked, voice tight as he looked between the two orange-clad figures and Starbuck's retreating back as she disappeared through the bay hatch.

"Nothing really, Sir," Galen said, voice nonchalant as he met the Major's blue glare.

"Nothing? It didn't look like nothing from where I was standing." The Major crossed his arms and turned to the Specialist. "It _looked _like Captain Thrace hit you?"

The accusation held the pair frozen for a moment before Cally said in a rush, "No, Sir. Starbuck didn't hit me."

Galen felt his lip twitch with a surge of pride in his feisty spouse as she faced down the CAG, neatly sidestepping the truth as she kept her gaze level with the senior officer, her chin just slightly tilted up, daring the man to doubt her words. He wondered if maybe she spent just a _little _too much time around Starbuck during their year on New Caprica together. As the Major's cold blue eyes flicked to him, his impulse to grin was quickly quenched.

"So, what _did _happen, Chief?"

"Sir, the Specialist and Captain Thrace were doing maintenance on the Raptor when an electrical surge injured the Captain. Cally admits to negligence in her failure to properly secure the system that caused the accident. I came over to ascertain that both parties were ok and determined that it wasn't necessary to summon a medic, but did suggest to Captain Thrace that she might want to have her hand checked out by the doctor, Sir." At Apollo's skeptical look, "I believe that she's probably on her way there now. Unless she's decided that the injury's insignificant enough, in which case, I expect that she's just taken an early lunch, Sir."

"Senior Chief, I won't have _any _member of the Galactica abuse another. If Captain Thrace should _happen _to be guilty of assaulting a member of your crew, I'd expect you to inform me so I can take appropriate action," Major Adama said, looking back and forth between the two, obviously waiting for them to tell him what really had just occurred. When neither did, he bit out, "Fine, Chief. It's your deck and people. But Captain Thrace is _my _responsibility. Keep that in mind in the future."

As the Major turned to leave, Galen spoke up, "Sir, if I may say so. You might look closer at your own responsibilities then, Sir." Even as the words spun the CAG back around, Galen was kicking himself for opening his big mouth instead of just letting the matter drop.

"And what exactly do you mean by that, Chief Tyrol?" Apollo demanded, voice as cold as Galen has ever heard it.

Snapping into an attention stance, Galen said as neutrally as he could, "Sir. Captain Thrace had an especially tough time on New Caprica. I simply meant that she might be having some difficulty adjusting back to life on the Galactica. And the attitude of her direct superior might not be helping, Sir." The Chief kept his eyes focused over the Major's shoulder and held his rigid stance.

"The _attitude _of said superior is none of your concern, Senior Chief," Apollo snapped.

"Yes, Sir, Major, Sir," Galen answered briskly, unable to let the matter go without at least _that _much of a protest. He knew the other man would understand the Chief's disapproval in both his word choice and tone, yet neither could be used against him in a charge of insubordination.

As Apollo remained silent, Galen risked meeting his eyes and was surprised by the doubt he saw in their depth, and he saw how the blue-clad shoulders seemed to slump just a little.

"Fine, Chief… All I ask is that you protect your people," the young officer's voice sounded tired now as he turned to walk away.

"_I _always do, Sir," Galen said, and saw by the hesitation in Apollo's stride that he'd caught the nuance.

Once the CAG was safely out of sight, Galen pulled his wife into a brief hug. "You're _really_ not hurt?" As she shook her head no, he prompted further, "You know, I'm not sure what exactly _did _happened."

"She _didn't _hit me. It was more of a shove," Cally said, nibbling at her lip. "And it wasn't an angry one. When I tried to touch her, she shoved me away. She wasn't mad, she was freaked." With a shake of her head, "Don't know what happened, but the shock couldn't a hurt her that bad. It's only a thirty kenawatt relay. Would've given her a good bite but that's about it." She turned worried eyes up to his, "Galen, I swear Starbuck looked like she was about to pass out."

He lifted his gaze towards where Captain Thrace had exited, mulling over his wife's words and what he'd seen for himself in Kara's expression.

"Galen?"

"Yeah?" he responded, still holding his wife close.

"Do we know? I mean, know what the Toasters did to her?" she whispered into his shoulder.

"I expect the Doc does, she had to pass a medical exam to be cleared to fly."

"Well, I think something's really wrong with her. You know, _really _wrong," Cally said as she drew out of her husband's embrace.

"So what do we do about it? You know Starbuck, she's not going to take kindly any one poking their noses in her business. Apollo's obviously out. Don't know what went down between those two, but the CAG's not going to be any help..." Galen ran a hand along the back of his neck in thought. "Maybe Helo. I'll see if I can speak with him between shifts."

With that decided, both returned to their tasks, hoping that they could find a way to clue in Starbuck's friends that she might be in trouble.

[ I I I I I ]

After hurrying from the hanger bay, Kara ducked into a supply closet and leaned back against its closed hatch. Her breathing was ragged as she replayed the sequence of events and how she'd suddenly found herself back at the mercy of her Cylon tormentors.

_Gods! It was so frakkin' real_.

She felt bruised by the buffeting emotions and wondered what she was going to do. The flashbacks were coming on so unexpectedly, leaving her reeling. One moment she was working on the Raptor, then next she was back with the Six maliciously grinning at her...and then Cally was reaching for her. She'd reflexively thrust the younger woman away, torn between the desire to run and the equally powerful urge to strike out.

Now, sliding down to sit with head in hands, Kara contemptuously accepted that she was damaged goods, that she'd come back tainted with the stain of New Caprica marked on her skin, mind and soul.

She stayed slouched against the hatch until the end of her shift, figuring that the Chief wouldn't be expecting her back anyways.

_It's not like I'll be missed_. _Not even by the Old Man._

Her musings were bitter as she closed her eyes_. _It's been nearly two weeks now and she'd seen the Admiral less than a handful of times, and then only to exchange a passing greeting in the hall. He hadn't sought her out—his avoidance spoke volumes to Kara. Both Adama men had made it painfully clear that they may have cared once, but not any longer.

Why would they miss a frak-up like her anyways?

Rising stiffly, Kara finally headed back to quarters. With any luck, a few hours of oblivion might be possible before the return of her bunkmates—or the nightmares—whichever woke her first. It wasn't like she had other options or plans. During her time in hell, Kara had learned to not look beyond enduring the next few hours…then the ones after that…and so on. She had believed things would be different once she was back on the Galactica.

She should have known better.

Things didn't work out that way for Kara Thrace.

They never had.


	42. Chapter 42 Floundering

Chapter 42 Floundering

Two days after the incident with Cally, Kara entered the deserted shower area and slowly pulled her sweat-stained tank over her head. She discarded the rank-smelling top and added her sports bra, sweatpants and underwear to the pile. Gods, she was so frakkin' tired. Leaning her head on the metal partition, she let her eyes close briefly. Her head jerked up as her forehead slipped to the side and she momentarily lost her balance. She put out a palm and braced herself back upright.

With a sigh, she fumbled through her shower kit until she found the minuscule bar of soap. Reaching forward, Kara turned the faucet setting and stepped into the warm spray. One advantage to taking showers at this gods-forsaken time of the morning, no shortage of hot water. Working up a lather, she washed her hair and rinsed it well. She hated laying in her bunk with damp hair, yet she knew she needed at least the hour of sleep she was likely to be able to steal before a nightmare or reveille called her back to the world of consciousness. After a long workout like the hours she'd just put in at the gym, she could usually count on sleeping until the call for first shift. Usually.

As the soap slipped from her clumsy grip, _"Godsdamnit," _she muttered. Bending forward to retrieve the priceless sliver, she lost her balance again and desperately reached out, accidentally knocking the faucet, and turning off the hot water. Straightening again, she was hit full in the face by the cold spray. The shock of the water traveled down her body.

…and her mind flipped back to another time.

[ I I I I I ]

Racetrack yawned hugely, feeling her jaw practically crack as she rubbed at sleep-crusted eyes.

"Hate mornings. Hate anything bout mornings," she muttered as she slowly moved to a sink and stared at her reflection. "Even hate breakfast... Though…plate of pancakes…double side of _real _bacon. Yeah, and OJ, freshly squeezed." She took out her toothbrush and began scrubbing her teeth as her mumbles continued, _"Donuts," _she moaned, pausing to spit, nearly able to taste the decadent pastries she use to buy from the neighborhood bakery. "I _think _I could tolerate mornings with donuts." After rinsing her mouth, she twisted the faucet off and realized that there was still water running in the background. Cocking her head at the realization that some other poor sucker had drawn the '_way too early' _shift like her. Stowing her kit, she grabbed a towel from the supply closet and walked around the wall dividing the shower stalls from the rest of the head.

When Racetrack first saw who was in the occupied stall, she nearly turned away, knowing how obsessive Starbuck was about her privacy since returning from New Caprica. Yet she paused. Something was off with the other woman. Then it struck her as she looked again. Kara wasn't even standing under the spray, she was pressed with her back into the corner, arms crossed about herself and shivering violently.

Taking a hesitant step forward, Margaret was stunned to realize that cold water was splashing forth from the shower head. Of course Starbuck was freezing, who wouldn't be after a cold shower and standing up against an equally cold wall.

Margaret looked closer at the blonde, saw that her eyes were tightly shut but her lips were murmuring words too low to hear through the chatter of her teeth. A sick feeling gripped the Raptor pilot and she reached through the spray to turn off the faucet.

"Starbuck?" she tentative called. No response. Not even a twitch beyond the shivers that racked Kara's body. This was the first time Racetrack had gotten a good look at her bunkmate since her return to Galactica. Now she saw how thin Kara had become and was surprised the Doc had even cleared her for duty.

She tried again, "Captain, it's me, Racetrack… Kara?"

Still no reaction.

Dithering what to do, Margaret finally moved closer. Her fingertips touched the pale skin and the icy chill beneath them changed her thoughts from mere concern to fear. _She's gotta be nearly hypothermic_, she thought as her mind raced with options. First thing, warm her up_._ Slinging the dry towel over the partition's edge, she turned the water back on, carefully adjusting it to tepid. Reaching forth again, she gently gripped the shuddering shoulders and pulled Kara away from the supporting wall, easing her forward with a locked arm around the lax shoulders until she had her maneuvered under the water.

Glancing down at herself, Margaret gave a sharp laugh as it dawned on her that she was still wearing her tank and shorts, which were now thoroughly drenched.

"Guess I'll be sporting a towel back to quarters. Really gotta thank you for that, Starbuck," she said, nudging the temperature a little higher.

After another minute she gave the knob a third twist and steam started rising around the pair of them. Holding her like this, the gauntness of Kara's frame was accentuated and Margaret wondered again why no one seemed concerned at her condition. Hadn't anyone even noticed? Two spots of color stained her cheeks as she realized that _she_ hadn't, even though she'd been sharing the same cabin with her.

Beneath her supporting hands, Racetrack felt the shivers slowly lessen, then Kara raise dazed eyes to hers before casting about the small stall in confusion.

"Wha—?" Kara croaked, barely a whisper.

"Easy now, Starbuck. I got you," Racetrack said, shifting her burden slightly as the blonde straightened beneath the spray. As Kara stepped back, Margaret moved with her, not sure it was safe yet to let go. With Starbuck leaning against the back wall again, the Raptor pilot released her hold, turning off the water as she pulled down the towel to drape it over Kara's bare shoulders.

As Starbuck seemed to snap into full awareness, Racetrack moved away from her, suddenly wary of the unpredictable pilot's reactions. Kara moved the towel lower and wrapped it around herself, avoiding Margaret's intent gaze until she had the cloth secured.

"You can go," Kara quietly said with eyes still averted. "I'm fine."

"I know, but I'll just go back with you. Unless you want to go see Doc Cottle?" The vehement head shake nixed that plan. "So, get dressed." At the blonde's stubborn look, "Either you go to the Doc, back with me to your rack…or I call the CAG," she gave her ultimatum in a brook-no-argument tone that surprised even herself.

Starbuck's eyes darted around the still empty room, and Racetrack could see her trying to find a way of sidestepping the choices she'd been given. "I've got a shift—"

"Not today, you don't," the Raptor pilot interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest, getting chilled standing around in her wet clothes. Irritation made her voice sharp as she said, "You look like hell. Only place you're going is back to your rack. _I'll _tell the Chief you're sick."

"Not sick," came the resentful reply.

"Starbuck, just get the frak dressed," she ordered, patience at it's end. "I'm freezing here." She saw the blonde take in her dripping shorts and shirt, and abruptly move to the supply closet. Following her, she caught the towel Kara tossed her way. Turning her back on the other woman, she quickly shed the wet garments, patting dry and tightening the towel so it wouldn't inadvertently loosen on their way back to their cabin.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Starbuck had made quick work herself, already clad in a clean pair of regulation underwear and tank top, and pulling on sweatpants. After gathering up her wet things, Racetrack gave a head jerk for the recalcitrant woman to lead the way, determined to see her back in her bunk before making any other decisions as to who to tell about what had just happened.


	43. Chapter 43 Notice Given

Chapter 43 Notice Given

Racetrack gave a knock on the CAG's partially closed hatch and entered, seeing Apollo look up from a pile of documents.

_Frakkin' glad I'm not the CAG_, she thought, eying the stack of paperwork he was already flipping through despite the early hour.

"Lieutenant?" he greeted her with a raised brow.

Now that she was here, Margaret wondered how she was supposed to explain that something was wrong with Starbuck. She knew of Apollo's cold anger towards the hotshot pilot. Hell, the whole squad knew things weren't right between the two senior officers since New Caprica.

Facing her superior across his desk, she unconsciously shifted from foot to foot as she sought what to say, finally blurting out, "It's about Starbuck, Sir." She saw his brows immediately lower and lips tighten as he slammed his pen onto the desk.

"What the frak's she done now, Lieutenant?" he demanded sharply. Racetrack fought the urge to take a step back, surprised by his vehement accusation.

"Uh… She's not done anything, Sir. It's just that, well…I don't think she's sleeping…or eating…much, Sir," she said, trying to keep her tone neutral in the face of his biting glare.

"And that's my problem how?"

At his sarcastic reply, her eyes widened and she focused on a spot over his shoulder as she stumbled over her words, "It's-it's just…I just thought that, you know, maybe you should talk to her. After this morning…" she trailed off when her glance flicked back to see that his expression had hardened even further. "I…" Margaret paused, suddenly hesitant to tell him about finding Starbuck zoned out in the shower. "She wasn't well, is all, Sir," she substituted instead.

"Hungover again, you mean?"

Giving her head a shake, "Uh, no. No, Sir. I don't think she's been drinking."

"Well, that'd be a first," Lee muttered as he stood to face her. "Thank you for your concern, Lieutenant. But, I'm sure she's fine. Starbuck doesn't need anyone's help, certainly not mine." Then with a nod as he resumed his seat, "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

Confused by the abrupt end of the conversation, Racetrack blinked several times at the man as he bent back over the forms. After turning and leaving the CAG's office, she halted in the corridor, wondering what to do now? She was due on a scouting mission in little over half an hour and Apollo had made it clear he wasn't going to take her concerns seriously.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that not only had she _not _gotten a proper shower this morning, but hadn't even stopped for breakfast before going to see the CAG. Well, nothing to do but to swing by the mess and see if she could grab something to go.

Fifteen minutes later she was munching on a ration bar as she spotted her goal. Swallowing the dry mouthful, she approached the Chief and caught his eye.

He pointed for one of his deckhands to place an engine part on the nearby table as he distractedly asked, "Whatcha need, Sir?"

"It's Starbuck. I think she's suppose to have a maintenance shift this morning, and she's kinda sick," Racetrack hurriedly said, unsure how the Chief would take the news after the unexpected reaction she'd gotten from Apollo.

The senior non-com's gaze abruptly sharpened on hers as he asked, "Sick? Has she seen the Doc?"

"No… That is, I don't think so," she said. "I left her in her rack. Sleeping I hope." At his questioning look, "She doesn't sleep well since, you know…New Caprica." She was relieved by the understanding that flashed across the man's face.

"Yeah… I've heard," he said, worry evident by the way he rubbed at his eyes with forefinger and thumb. Returning her gaze, his tone firmed, "Did something happen last night or this morning?"

Racetrack glanced around to make sure that no one was close enough to hear, and then took a breath, "I found her in the shower. This morning. And she was sort of freaking out," she said in a low rush of words.

"Freaking out? Like how?"

"Freaking out, OK... Look, I found her in one of the stalls, water running, but she wasn't under it, just sort of huddled into the corner. She didn't even seem to hear me at first. And she was cold. I think she might've been there a long time cause she was so frakkin' cold and shivering. I knew something was wrong. Tried to get her to go to Cottle, but…you know Starbuck, just insisted she needed to sleep. Like I said, I left her in her rack," she said, feeling suddenly defensive beneath the Chief's increasing frown.

"And you didn't report this to the Doc?"

"No, but I told Major Adama," then corrected herself, "I tried anyways."

"What's that suppose to mean, Lieutenant."

With another nervous glance around, "He wouldn't listen." At the Chief's incredulous look, "You know what things have been like between them. He and Starbuck. I tried to tell him that something was wrong, but he just cut me off, blamed it on ambrosia or whatever," she grimaced, then confessed, "I guess I never actually told him about the shower." With a frown at the wall clock, "Look, Chief, I'm on a scouting mission for the next five hours or so. I've gotta go. Can you…I don't know…check on her or something?"

"Can't leave the deck right now myself," he said, frustration evident as he looked around the hanger, busy with crew prepping for the morning CAP and scouting missions. "I'll send Cally. Maybe see if she can get her to go see Cottle, OK?" At Racetrack's relieved nod, he pointed a finger at her and added, "When you get back though, you've got to tell someone _exactly _what happened. If not the CAG, then maybe the Old Man."

She squirmed at the thought of approaching the Admiral and trying to discuss Starbuck's weird episode with him. The Chief obviously saw her reluctance and suggested an alternative, "Talk to Captain Agathon then. He needs to know about this."

With a relieved nod, "That'll work. They're friends. Soon as I get back, I'll tell him," Racetrack promised then swiveled to stride off to her assigned Raptor, satisfied that she'd done all she could for now.


	44. Chapter 44 Spiraling Down

Chapter 44 Spiraling Down

As Lee searched the bustling Flight deck for the familiar orange-clad form of the Chief, his stomach roiled with a combination of anger, frustration—and though he hated to admit it—concern, over Racetrack's comments that morning. After dismissing the Lieutenant, he'd tried to return to his reports yet kept finding his thoughts wandering to what the Raptor pilot had said. He'd had the impression that she'd meant to tell him more…if he'd have let her. An hour after her visit, he'd finally stood with a sigh, admitting that he wasn't going to get any work done until he'd followed up on their conversation.

So he found himself in the hanger bay, remembering too late that Racetrack was out on a scouting mission. After realizing that Kara was nowhere on the deck, he'd finally thought to check the duty logs and discovered that she'd been scratched from her shift and marked as sick.

That's when Lee decided to find the Chief and see if he knew what was going on with Kara. Finally spotting his moving target, he strode up to the obviously busy man and stood impatiently waiting for him to finish giving orders to one of the younger petty officers. Apollo's gaze narrowed in speculation as the Chief finally turned to greet him with a determinedly blank expression on his face. The man obviously knew _something—_and wasn't planning on volunteering the information.

_Fine. If he thinks he can protect Starbuck, then he'd better just reconsider right frakking now_, Lee decided as he locked eyes with him.

"Chief, I understand from the duty logs that Captain Thrace has been reported too ill to work her shift?" he demanded, knowing that his tone was overly harsh, yet refusing to ratchet it down.

"Yes, Sir. Racetrack told me before heading out on her scouting mission, Sir." Tyrol confirmed. Then, after giving Apollo a searching look, added, "I had Cally check on the Captain, and she said that Starbuck's in her bunk sleeping. I guess she's pretty exhausted, Sir."

"Of course, because she's so overworked on the maintenance detail," Lee sarcastically said. As he saw the Chief straighten to attention, he bit back a curse, realizing that he'd just insulted the man and his people. "Sorry, Chief. I didn't mean to imply that you and your people have it easy."

"No, Sir. Of course not, Sir," Tyrol replied, not dropping his formal stance.

Lee stared at the Chief a few moments more, knowing he should have handled their discussion better. It had been stupid putting him on the defensive, even if it _was _inadvertently. Mentally grimacing, Lee acknowledged to himself that he had a knack for stupid actions whenever Kara was involved. Well, short of ordering the Chief to spit out whatever he was holding back, Lee decided he'd be better off not pushing the matter.

With an, "As you were," he left to confront the source of his irritation in person.

[ I I I I I ]

As her privacy curtain was yanked aside, Kara shot up in her bed with a gasp, heart racing as she saw a man looming in front of her bunk. Squinting aching eyes, she abruptly recognized Lee and her stomach unclenched with a twist.

She managed to roll over quick enough to vomit onto the floor instead of her bunk as she heaved bile…and little else. Through her retching, she vaguely heard Lee's curse as he jump away but not before getting splattered. _Serve the frakker right,_ she disjointedly thought with a grimace as she spat to clear the acid from her mouth as best she could. When she was finally sure there was nothing else that could possibly come up, Kara flopped over onto her back, wiping at her mouth as Lee cautiously advanced forward again.

"What do you want, Lee," she asked, too tired to really care yet knowing he must have had a compelling reason to seek her out this way.

"If you're sick, you should see Cottle," his tight reply.

"Not sick," she mumbled, wishing he'd just go away and leave her alone; it hurt too much to see the bitter disgust on his face when he looked at her.

"A hangover's not an acceptable excuse for missing a shift." His tone hardened further as he added, "Next time you overdo it drinking, Starbuck, you can expect to spend the day in the brig. Not that I'd expect that to make much of an impression on _you, _but everyone's expected to carry their load, even the screw-ups. Have I made myself clear, _Captain_?"

"Crystal, Sir," she replied, voice and expression flat.

Giving another disgusted glance at the mess on the floor, Lee said, "And clean up your own mess for a change," then spun on his heels and strode away, slamming the hatch closed behind him.

Kara lay in her bunk trying to fight back weary tears as his words looped through her mind. It's not like they weren't true, nor the first time she'd heard them. She wasn't drinking, hadn't had one in three days now, but the rest of his comments were spot on. Once a screw-up, always one, as she seemed so good at proving.

Swinging her legs over the bed's side, she put her throbbing head in hands that shook and inhaled slowly until the room stopped spinning.

_Frak. Maybe I _should _go see Cottle_, she thought, then dismissed the idea.

She wasn't feverish. Besides, she knew her real problem was that she hadn't been getting enough sleep, or eating regularly. Both her own fault like everything else. Kara folded her arms across her abdomen, feeling her ribs unusually prominent through the thin material of the tank she always wore now to keep her body covered. Her appetite had been nonexistent since her return from New Caprica, and she'd had to force herself to choke down something each day.

The last few days, though, it just seemed like too much effort and she'd been avoiding the mess except for the single time the Chief had cornered her and insisted that they have lunch together. She'd pushed her food around the plate and managed to swallow enough to keep him from noticing how little she'd really eaten.

Kara wasn't a fool. She knew that her body needed fuel as much as her Viper did, and yet…

Everything just took too much effort anymore.

Forcing her legs to hold her weight, she stood and snagged a dirty top and used it to sop up the detritus from the floor. Tossing the smelly garment back in the laundry bin, she looked at her rack longingly. Gods, what she wouldn't give for some real sleep for a change. Rubbing knuckles against grainy eyes, she sighed. Lee had snatched away any chance she had of getting any more now. She knew that if she tried, she'd just hear his voice on constant replay, heaping condemnations on her until she suffocated under the weight.

Standing in the deserted bunkroom, she considered her options. After what had happened earlier, she wasn't ready to face another shower, not even sure if she could trust herself to try. Since sleep was out, maybe an attempt to eat was in order. At the thought, her stomach roiled and the acid threatened in her throat again.

_Ok, so, maybe no food just yet._

She couldn't go to the flight deck since she was suppose to be too sick to work.

Kara sighed and moved to pull her toiletry kit from her locker and made her slow way back to the officer's head. Avoiding the shower stalls, and the stares of her crewmates, she used a free sink to splash water on her face and brush the bitter taste from her mouth. After dropping her kit back at the still empty cabin, she made her reluctant legs carry her to sickbay, hoping she could corner a nurse instead of dealing with the senior surgeon. Luck seemed to be finally giving her a shake when she caught Ishay's eyes as she entered.

"What brings you here, Captain Thrace?" the assistant asked, giving her a brief once over before adding, "No gapping wounds or bleeding stumps. Hardly expected anything less to drag you through our doors."

"I just—" Kara paused, wondering what lie she could tell that would get her something for her rebellious stomach and pounding head. With a self-derisive internal chuckle, she realized that there was one obvious explanation no one was likely to question. "just need something for a bad hangover. Settle my stomach. Help with the headache." She gave what she hoped passed for a sheepish shrug at Ishay's disapproving frown.

"Of course, Captain," Ishay said, then turned to rummage through a nearby drawer. She pulled a two-pill blister pack forth and held it out. As Kara gripped the proffered medication, she felt the other woman keep hold of the pack. She raised her eyes to meet Ishay's.

"You know there are other options than alcohol. If you ever need to talk…" the woman offered, her eyes conveyed a sympathy that immediately had Starbuck stiffening in defensive reaction.

Snatching the pills, she forced a smirk, "This is all I need," she said and hurried from the area before Ishay remembered to check her weight or Cottle could show up and demand answers.

[ I I I I I ]

After leaving the sickbay earlier, she had swallowed the pills and hidden out in the nearest head, waiting for them to work. A half hour later, finally feeling some semblance of normalcy returning, Kara had forced herself to the mess hall and even managed to get down a whole cup of soup and a few crackers. She'd sat off by herself, glaring at anyone that even looked likely to join her. With the food feeling heavy in her shrunken stomach, she'd gone back to her bunk, steps dragging with the pulling fatigue.

A bare two hours later and she woke thrashing with the blanket twisted about her legs and her breathing harsh in the silent room. She'd only just caught her breath when a couple of the newest pilots came laughing into the bunkroom, their chuckles abruptly cutoff on seeing her. Kara hurriedly grabbed her workout gear and left the compartment, finally ending up in the nearly deserted gym with the promise to herself that after a good workout she'd try to get some more sleep.

Kara was doing leg presses, careful of her weakened right knee as she counted them out. _E__ighteen, nineteen, twenty…_ With a slow exhale, she eased the weight back to its cradle and stood to stretch out her protesting leg muscles. Glancing around, she saw that a few more people, mostly Marines, had wandered in. Seeing that the bench press was still unoccupied, Starbuck adjusted the weights and lay back until she was positioned under the bar. A few deep breaths and she lifted the weight. Slow down and steady up…Repeat…And again.

On the eighth count something changed…

_A heaviness settled on her chest and Leoben was there, pressing her down, hands touching her, and she couldn't breathe…_

The pressure was suddenly gone and she blinked up at a freckled young man with a crew cut.

"Hey there, Sir. It's Ok. I got it," the boyish voice said, concern barely hidden beneath his light tone. "You should have a spotter," he added as he slid the bar onto the support arms.

Kara cleared her throat, trying to swallow the lingering terror of the flashback as well. "Yeah. Stupid. I know better… Thanks," she said flicking a glance around to see if anyone else had noticed. Fortunately not. With a nod to the Marine, she moved away and found herself in front of the heavy punching bag. Still feeling the adrenaline surge from her fright, she decided that a little bag workout was just what she needed.

Not bothering to wrap her hands, she started with light combinations, using jabs and one-two combos to loosen her tensed shoulders. Hooks and uppercuts were followed by harder pairings until Kara lost herself in the rhythm of her fist striking the leather surface. Her breathing deepened to heavy pants and the punches were flurries now against the swaying bag as she dove further into the need to pummel and strike. She was oblivious to the gathering silence about her as people noticed the blood coating her unprotected fists and splattering droplets on the mat at her feet.

A hand on her shoulder had her spinning and instinctively striking out. HotDog fell backwards, landing hard on his butt and surprised pain causing the whites of his eyes to show.

Lifting a hand to his face, "What the hell was that for?" he asked, working his jaw side to side.

Lowering his hand, Kara saw him stare at the blood on his fingers. "Frak, Starbuck, I'm bleeding." Then he wiped again at his face and realized that he wasn't after all, that's when his eyes narrowed on Kara's bloody knuckles. She followed his gaze down and saw the raw skin her unprotected pounding of the bag had grated red. She considered offering her former nugget a hand up, but decided against it as she saw other eyes looking from her hands to the red-smeared bag and the still sprawled junior officer.

"Sorry," was all she managed before hurrying from the gym.

Stopping at the nearest head, she gingerly washed her hands, thankful that the torn flesh had stopped bleeding. Seeing more faces turned her way as she stood before the mirror, Kara abruptly left and headed off towards the hanger bay. With any luck she could skirt the work parties and find that little cubby again with no one the wiser.

Not seeing anyone looking her way, Kara slipped deeper into the bay and breathed a sigh of relief as she slid into the dark recess. It felt like finding a sanctuary. No one would bother her here. And, she wouldn't be a bother to anyone else, either.


	45. Chapter 45 Retreat

Chapter 45 Retreat

Over the next few days, Kara withdrew even further into herself. Her meals, when she bothered with them, were in and out sessions in the mess. She'd find an unoccupied table, swallow what she could in ten minutes and leave. In the hanger bay, she never bantered or joked, and just stared silently if anyone tried to broach a subject other than whatever task she was currently working on. She kept her eyes averted and pretended not to notice the concerned looks she received from the Chief and Cally.

And she'd taken to avoiding Helo at all costs after he'd tried to talk to her in the gym late one night.

The one exception was the nightly triad games. She and Colonel Tigh, once bitter enemies, found themselves bonding over their biting comments aimed at those that had stayed behind on Galactica. The pair fed each other on vitriol, and, if their words were corroding the attempts to restore the cohesiveness of Galactica's crew, neither seemed to care. To the onlookers, it appeared that Starbuck was drinking to excess like usual. What they didn't know was that the flask she swigged from throughout the night was filled with water.

Saul Tigh knew, though.

Over the years, he'd spent too many hours scrutinizing Starbuck not to know when she was stone cold sober. He kept her secret, and her sullen looks and remarks kept everyone else from peering closer.

Each night, after the card game broke up, Kara still went to the gym, only avoiding it if Helo or one of the other pilots were already there. With three gyms on the Galactica, she could usually find one uninhabited in the late hours of the night. There were times, though, when the gym was unappealing, or she just needed to be…someplace else. At those times, Kara would slink off into the crates and her hiding spot. If she thought she could get away with it, she'd have gladly moved down there just to get away from the sideways looks and whispers of her bunkmates. Since that wasn't really an option, she only sought out her secret place when the pressure to run became overpowering.

[ I I I I I ]

Kara's deepening isolation didn't go unnoticed.

Racetrack had filled Helo in about the shower incident and he had briefly considered the idea of approaching Lee, but had quickly nixed it once he'd heard of the CAG's reaction to her report and, really, anything having to do with Kara at all.

On multiple occasions since, he'd tried to get Kara alone to talk, but she gotten deft at either slipping away whenever she saw him coming or ignoring him entirely when in a group. With the settling of the New Caprican refugees and trying to reintegrate the returning crew, Karl was so busy that he let his concern for his friend slide to the back burner.

He did consider—as a last resort—approaching either the Admiral or Doc Cottle. Yet, what was he to tell them? That Starbuck just wasn't herself. That, since she wouldn't talk to him, something was wrong.

Besides, once you brought in the big guns, there was no going back.

The decision was taken away when the Admiral confronted him about morale on the flight deck. Helo told Adama about the Colonel and Starbuck's divisive comments, but he had hesitated to elaborate about the other incidents. After all, he was sure that once the Old Man had spoken with Kara, he'd see for himself that something else was going on with her.

So he thought.


	46. Chapter 46 Disowned

Chapter 46 Disowned

When the Admiral stood beside the table at which Starbuck and Tigh had just started their card game, she felt the constant anger quail slightly in his presence. Kara had risen to leave when he'd instructed the room to clear, thinking he wanted to speak with the Colonel, but at his cold command to stay, she'd slouched back into her chair and kept her eyes averted. His order to give him her sidearm had pulled her gaze briefly to his, but she hadn't been able to read anything in his expression.

Kara's anger and shame had vied with each other when the Admiral had called them on their behavior. She was surprised he cared enough to bother. But then again—she mentally corrected herself—he cared about the smooth running of his ship, not about her.

The bitter hurt had stoked her anger and she had started to tell him off, only to have her world physically fall away as her surrogate father shoved her to the floor. His words, harsh and cold, had made it clear how he felt about her now.

He had dismissed her.

Dismissed her from the room, from his heart—from Galactica itself.

Kara fled.

Even as the seething bitterness and hurt that pushed her pace slowly ebbed with each stride, his words still pounded within her skull; knelling their message deep within her mind where they resonated with other words that echoed from both her distant and more recent past.

Her hurried flight dropped to a shuffle as she entered the officer's head. It was busy with crew members cleaning up after the latest shift change. Kara was blind to them as she approached an empty sink. Staring at the stranger's image in the mirror, she slowly drew forth the blade she kept strapped to her ankle.

Others began to take note of the way she held herself apart within the crowded area. She distantly noted that many nervously exited the washroom as she wielded the knife, while others shifted away, creating a bubble around her as they cast anxious glances at each other. She ignored them, pulling her hair around to the side in a bunch and began sawing at its length.

When the knife sliced through the last of the blonde strands, Kara saw a flicker in the glass. Where before only her own taut face had stared back at her, now another was lurking just behind her shoulder, his knowing smile locking with hers via the reflection.

She felt the breath against her ear as Leoben whispered, "You can't run from destiny, Kara. You belong to me," his voice husky and assured.

Kara was afraid to turn around.

She didn't know what scared her more, that the skin-job might really be there…or that he wasn't. With eyes squeezed shut, she took a slow breath, then reluctantly opened them again. Leoben was gone, replaced by another, an older woman whose drawn features and cruel mouth Kara knew from a childhood steeped in pain. Socrates Thrace was scowling at her, the usual sneer of disapproval fixed onto her hard face.

Eyes helplessly drawn to her mother's, Kara was transported back to the dingy apartment she'd spent so many years fleeing. Her mother's harsh voice rasped at her, repeating the words of the Admiral; _a malcontent and a cancer, and no daughter of mine_.

With a shaking hand, she slipped the knife back into its sheath and turned. She wasn't surprised to find no one behind her. Numb legs carried her from the washroom and out into Galactica's corridors.

As she made her way along the long hallway, her thoughts circled and she accepted a truth more damning than all her past sins.

They were right.

She was a malignancy that left death and decay in its wake, and she'd been doing it long before the Cylons ever came on the scene.

—_No daughter of mine— _

—_Malcontent and cancer—_

_—A screw-up that can't keep her pants on—_

She was all that and more. Who was she kidding, a haircut wasn't going to change who she was. The Admiral was right, cut out the bad to save the rest. Better to quarantine herself then risk exposing others to the blight that was Kara Thrace.

Along that stretch of hall, an essential link in Kara's chain of identity snapped. Already warped by a childhood of abuse, then further weakened by the four months of her imprisonment and the revelation of Kacey's true parentage, the Admiral's words gave the damaged coupling a last twist and it finally parted.

Even as her feet carried her forward, Kara was lost to herself.

She wasn't a Viper pilot, Lee had seen to that; Sam's death had severed the bonds that made her a wife; Kacey had been swept away in the arms of her real mother.

And the Admiral… 'You were like a daughter to me once. No more.'

No more.

She was nothing now. Just like her mom warned her she'd end up if she didn't do better, be better. But she wasn't good enough. Never good enough.

She was nothing…

Had she ever been anything else?

Kara stumbled and she bumped into someone, jerking away from the hand that reached out to steady her. Couldn't risk tainting anyone else. She didn't even look up to see who it was, just veered off down a side corridor, her steps carrying her onward.

When she entered the cavernous bay, it was well into the late shift and few people were in the area. She felt the pull of the Vipers and longed to jump into one and flee from all her failures. She even took a couple of steps in that direction before noticing the two orange-clad forms moving among the sleek shapes, instead she shuffled off in the opposite direction, towards the little bit of sanctuary she had found on a ship crowded with demands and defeat.

Jerky steps that mirrored her chaotic thoughts moved her along the line of piled boxes until she came to the row she sought. Going to ground in the dark cave of crates she'd made for herself, Kara huddled into herself, the disintegration that had started in the gray apartment escalating as the darkness closed in on her. With forehead to knees and hands clasped about her head, Kara started to slowly rock back and forth, humming tunelessly as reality and nightmare images blended into a swirl of ash.

There were no colors left on her palate, only the dried remains of burnt umber and charred hopes.


	47. Chapter 47 Stowaway

Chapter 47 Stowaway

Galen rubbed at his neck, trying to loosen the tense muscles and convince the threatening headache to save it for another day. He hoped some peace and quiet would curtail the migraine he felt coming on, too damned tired to deal with a pounding head on top of another sleepless night. Nicky was teething again and he and Cally had spent the past few nights taking turns trying to comfort the infant. Between the baby and the huge backlog of work that had built up over a year's time, he was constantly behind in sleep and he could tell it was starting to affect his work.

Slung over his shoulder Galen carried one of the pads the deck crew used when working on undercarriages, and he shuffled deeper into the recesses of Galactica's hanger bay. Way he figured, he still had time to catch a good two hours worth of shuteye before he had to get ready for the morning shift.

Now, as he moved along the line of crates, something niggled at his senses.

This was _his_ hanger bay, and he believed he knew all its secrets. Yet, as he ambled towards the furthest portion, there was something off—wrong—and he couldn't quite place his finger on what it was that was bothering him.

Then he knew...

An odor. Something that didn't smell of machines and sweat.

"Just frakking great,"he muttered outloud, then fell silent as he sniffed several times. _Some idiot's left a sandwich or something down here and its gone bad. _He scented the air again,trying to get a direction of where the smell was coming from._ Bet it was Murphy again. His frakkin' ass is gonna be on scut until…_his thought trailed off as he saw something else amiss towards the back of a row of crates. Several of the large boxes were skewed out of alignment.

Galen made his way along the aisle, slowing as he noticed the shadowed recess formed by the disturbed crates. He abruptly realized that he'd found the source of the smell…and maybe something more ominous, too. Halting, Galen cocked his head slightly. There! He'd definitely heard the murmur of a muffled voice. As it dawned on him that he was in a nearly deserted bay with a possible Cylon agent, the Chief considered quietly retracing his steps and coming back with a Marine or two for company.

He had only taken one cautious step back when the muffled sounds of shallow coughing froze him in place. Well, whatever poor sod was stinking up his deck was obviously sick…and from the sounds of it, he'd bet it was a woman, too, though kinda hard to say just from a few coughs.

_Frak it. _

He wasn't about to leave to go looking for a guard, just to return to find the stowaway had taken off while he was gone. Slipping a flashlight from his utility belt, he crept forward the remaining few feet until he was close enough to bend over and shine the narrow beam into the hiding space.

Definitely female. He couldn't make out much else because she was curled forward over her knees, face hidden by blonde hair. Breathing through his mouth now that he'd finally identified the source of the odor, Galen swung the light about the small niche and silently cursed as the glow touched on a crimson smear on the decking around the figure. The darker staining of the woman's slashed cargo pants finally registered and he knew she was injured, though the blood looked dried.

As another weak coughing fit shook the shivering frame, sympathy rose in the Chief at the pitiful condition of the stowaway. She'd obviously had been here for at least a couple of days, and from the stench, hadn't left her hiding spot for any reason, which hinted at a deep fear.

Shifting so he could kneel in the cramped space in front of the opening, he softly called to her, "Hey, there." As the blonde head rose, Tyrol rocked back, nearly toppling the box behind him in the shock of recognition. "Gods, Starbuck!" What are you doing here?"

When she didn't answer, he looked closer and saw the dull eyes and blank expression. Sure, she'd been having problems, but what could've driven her into this state? He knew enough first aid to recognize a person in deep shock when he saw it, and this was _way_ beyond his pay scale. Time to call in those reinforcements.

"You—you just stay right here, Captain. Ok? Everything's gonna be fine now," he said in the low, soothing voice he used when his little boy got fussy. Working his way out from the crates, Tyrol hurried to the bay's ship phone, casting worried glances back over his shoulder to make sure Kara wasn't leaving the stacks.

He called sickbay first, saying only that he needed Cottle on the flight deck immediately for an emergency, and then he followed up with a call to CIC that the Admiral was needed ASAP, refusing to give any further details to the Comm officer on duty.

In a surprisingly short time, both men converged on the Chief where he stood at the main entrance to the hanger bay, blocking access to other crew members. Tyrol saw the two men exchange looks, obviously clued in to the seriousness of the matter by the presence of the other. As obvious was their displeasure at the cryptic nature of his summons, which he read in their expressions as two grim faces were turned on him.

"What is it, Chief?" his commander asked.

Now that the men were here, Galen found himself at a bit of a loss on how to explain the situation. "Sir, I—I was looking over the storage crates and realized that something was different. When I investigated I found…someone…hiding in the stacks. Think she's been there for a few days."

"A stowaway? A Cylon agent?" The Admiral's brows drew together. "You know the protocol, Chief, why haven't you called for the Marines?"

As Tyrol hesitated, "You said she?" Cottle prompted.

"Uh, well, it's kinda complicated, Sir," he hedged again. Finally deciding to just say it, "It's Captain Thrace. She's in the stacks and… Look, Sirs, I think you should just see for yourselves."

Before turning away, Tyrol saw both men stiffen when he identified their 'stowaway'. Without looking to see if they were following, he hurried off towards the far end of the bay again.

The small procession, Adama, Cottle and an orderly he'd brought along, made their silent way after the Chief. He gave them a wave forward as he turned down a narrow aisle of boxes, slowing now as he approached the dark niche between crates.

[ I I I I I ]

Cottle was right behind the Admiral as he drew near enough to see over his commander's shoulder. The Chief had stopped just short of the opening and signaled for the Admiral to help him shift the boxes immediately in front to widen the aisle. It took only a minute to slide the crates aside, but Cottle took the opportunity to step forward and squat to peer into the depths of the darkened space. Not that he could see much.

Frowning, "Chief, give me your light," he ordered. Flicking it on, he flashed the beam into the interior and went still. _Damn_. With experienced senses, he quickly evaluated the young woman before him. Her physical condition was bad enough, yet it was the glazed eyes and flushed face that really concerned him, that and the fact that Thrace was hiding away in some dark hole in the first place. The Chief was right. She'd been here for awhile.

_What the frak happened to the girl?_

Well, that was a worry for later. First thing, assess and treat the physical damages. The mental ones would have to wait.

"Captain Thrace." Green eyes slowly blinked against the light, but otherwise she didn't respond. "Starbuck, it's time to come out," he said. _That_ got a response as she violently shook her head in refusal and he saw her breathing quicken.

From the corner of his eye, he felt Adama kneel beside him and recoil as he took in Kara's condition.

After clearing his throat, "Kara, it's me," the Admiral said.

Neither of the men were prepared for the instant reaction as she jerked further back into the cubby, terror replacing the dazed look in her eyes. She raised a blood-caked hand, flashing a knife defensively as disjointed words spilled from her cracked lips, "…no. No… Won't go…" panic shook her hoarse voice, "…go back. Won't. Won't… ," she broke on a sob, "Please, please…I'm sorry. Don't…"

Cottle watched as the young woman managed to press herself even flatter against the back crate, cringing away as she waved the sharp blade towards them. He automatically drew back and felt the man at his side do the same. He heard the Admiral speak again.

"Starbuck, it's Admiral Adama."

Cottle's eyes narrowed as he observed the way Thrace's panic deepen even as her words swung wildly from fear to anger and back, one moment pleading then the next threatening. Intuition triggered the knowledge that whatever her issues, the Admiral figured predominantly in them—and his presence was inflaming her reactions.

He put a hand on the arm beside him, drawing Adama to his feet and nudging him back down the aisle a few steps.

"Bill, you're not helping," he bluntly said. "I need you to back off. Let me work with her." With a glance back at the dark space, "We need someone to help talk her down, and that doesn't appear to be you." Cottle saw Adama flinch. "Maybe that son of yours?"

"I don't think Apollo's a good idea, Sir," the Chief spoke up. As Cottle turned, the younger man hastily continued, "The Major was pretty harsh when he grounded her. And…and I think something happened between the two of them before she settled on New Caprica. Just a feeling," he said with a shrug. His eyebrows lifted. "How about Helo?" he suggested.

Cottle saw the Admiral considering the young man's words before nodding. "Ok, Chief. Page Captain Agathon." The Admiral cast a look about the nearly deserted hanger bay, and then added, "I also want this section of the bay kept clear. Get a couple of Marines posted. Let's keep this as discrete as possible."

The Chief nodded and strode off. Probably thankful to leave this mess behind him, Cottle thought, wishing suddenly he had that option. Wishing made for poor results. Might as well try to wish the Cylons banished to Hades for all the good wishing did a body.

As Adama turned back to him, Cottle said, "Give me a few minutes; see what I can get outta her." He moved away without waiting for permission.

Resuming his position with the light set to the side providing shading illumination of his patient, he saw that some of the panicked edge had eased during the time they'd moved away. But she was still going on about not being sent away, not going, still vacillating between emotions.

He spoke in low tones, trying to connect, to break the loop of hysteria that held her. As he saw her arm slowly lower the knife to her side, the slashed trousers and dried blood caught his attention again and his eyes widened in understanding. She hadn't been attacked as he'd first thought. No, the damned girl had been cutting into her own thigh and, unless his nose was mistaken, infection had set in. Fever explained the flush of her cheekbones set against an otherwise pale and drawn face. Just what he needed, a delirious and deranged Starbuck wielding a knife. What a frakkin' great way to start his day. Nothing for it but to deal.

Though Thrace had calmed quite a bit, he still wasn't making much progress in getting her to drop the knife and, considering the close confines, he wasn't any too eager to try to force her out, not while she still held the blade in hand. He decided to wait and hope Agathon had some luck with her.

A few minutes later Cottle turned and observed the tall Raptor pilot making his way up the aisle, worry and guilt flickering across the younger man's face as he nodded a greeting and squatted down beside the doctor. Like everyone else, the younger man rocked back, shocked as he took in the scene. The Admiral probably had warned Helo, but nothing really could prepare him for seeing the state Thrace was in.

He saw the young officer swallow convulsively several times before finding his voice. "Hey, Kara, it's Karl. Whatcha doing?" Her green eyes seemed to focus on him before flitting away again as she weakly coughed. Then she started slowly rocking, hand still clasped around the hilt of the knife but no longer waving it in their direction.

"Starbuck," Helo tried again. "quite the place you got here. Cozy and all. Not much of view, though. Why don't you come on out and we'll go for a walk."

"No, no," she said, her rocking quickening now. "Can't go out. Tainted." At her words, Cottle's bushy brows drew together. Now what was she going on about?

"Hey, it's ok. It's safe to come out. Come on," Helo said with a small beckoning wave of his hand, "come with me."

"Tainted…cancer…infect you all. Kill you all." Her right hand raised the blade again, not threatening them this time. Instead, the edge was set again her thigh and she drew it sharply downward, slicing through the already tattered material of her pants and Cottle saw a fresh trail of red flow from the wound.

_Crap!_ Cottle flinched and felt the man at his side suck in a deep breath.

Both men heard Kara's muttered words even as she drew a parallel slash to the first, "Killed Zak. Killed Sam. Killed Lee. Killed the Old Man. Everyone's dead…cancer killed them… I killed them," her voice was low but filled with self-loathing. "Cut it out… Gotta cut it out before kill anyone else."

"Frak," he heard Helo breathe the curse and noted how the young man had paled and seemed at a loss what to do or say when faced with the extent of Thrace's disintegration.

Hoping to shake him from his paralysis, Cottle jabbed an elbow into Helo's ribs and jerked his head towards the rocking figure.

[ I I I I I ]

As the doctor gave him a nudge, Karl drew his scattered emotions and thoughts back into focus. It was hard though. He'd been pulled from his rack by the emergency summons and had hurried to the hanger deck, wondering what new disaster he, as the acting-XO, had to handle now.

He'd never imaged this, though.

The Admiral had given him the briefest of explanations before shoving him towards where Doc Cottle knelt. Now, gazing in at what remained of his best friend, he wondered how'd he ever let it get this far? He'd known she was floundering, he had figured that much out. Yet, he'd had so many demands on his time, and Kara had rebuffed all of his attempts to get her to talk…so he'd let it slide. And this was the result. His friend was broken. Shattered, from the looks of her.

Gods, he hoped that it wasn't too late to put the pieces back together.

Firming his lips, he gave the Doc a nod in acknowledgment, then settled on his haunches, sliding just a bit further into the cubby as he placed his back to the side crate and sat so he was across the opening but still able to face Kara. She had stopped her rocking and was darting wary looks his way as he stretched his legs out beside her, not able to completely straighten them in the small space.

Deep breath. "Kara, Lee's fine. He's here on the Galactica. So's the Admiral," Karl said quietly. "They're both Ok. You didn't kill anyone." He saw her flinch at the mention of their names and then vehemently shake her head.

"Lee's dead. Shot him, killed him."

"No. You shot him, but he didn't die," Karl gently corrected her, trying to catch and hold her eyes as they touched on his. "Lee's fine. He's CAG again. Remember?" Her forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"Lee's Ok?" her voice pleaded with him to make it true.

"Yes, Lee's his usual stick-up-the-ass self. Just fine."

"No, I killed him. Just like Zak. Just like Sam—" she broke off with a sharp inhale, shuddering.

Karl heart ached as he watched grief and horror chase each other across Kara's face. He knew Samuel Anders hadn't made it off New Caprica. The Chief had told him it was assumed the Cylons had killed the Resistance fighter after he'd disappeared and they hadn't found him among the survivors in the prison. It was a frakkin' shame. He'd liked the ex-Pyramid player and had seen how happy the man made Kara. Now, seeing the way she was crumbling before him, Karl guessed she knew something about Sam's death. Whatever it was, was damned traumatic, because he intuitively believed that her husband's death was linked somehow to her confusion about Lee and the Admiral.

Clenching his hand at his side, Karl wished he didn't feel so out of his depth here. Kara needed professional help, not some Raptor backseater. Giving himself a mental shake, _Hell, it's not my job to fix her, just to get her out alive._ He could do this. He would frakkin' do this.

"Kara, Lee's fine. The Old Man's fine. He's worried about you."

That appeared to be the wrong thing to say as her face contorted and she turned the blade his way, it's edge glinting as the light reflected off its length.

"You lie!" her voice full of rage now. "He wants me gone. Gonna send me back." She broke into a fit of coughing. Once the spasms had passed, Kara licked her lips and shuddered again. "Won't go… I won't go back. Airlock me first, just like he said."

What? Karl's head ached from the whiplash of trying to follow Kara's words. She wasn't any making sense. _Remember! Not my job!_ Gritting his teeth, Karl refocused_. Calm her down. Get the knife and get her the frak outta here. _That was his mission.

"Hey, it's Karl. Come on, Kara. You know me," he said lightly, forcing himself to relax and add a teasing note to his words, "We're best buds. Remember that time on Picon when you beat the Staff Sergeant out of a month's pay playing triad? Who had your back when he claimed you were cheating?" He had her attention now and quickly pressed on, "We spent the rest of our weekend pass in the city lockup and I taught you how to flip cards into the sink." She blinked, seemingly confused by the memory and her present reality. He took on a wheedling tone, "Ahhh, come on Starbuck, let me have a look at that pig-sticker you got. I haven't seen it before."

Her gaze wavered and dropped to the knife she held posed between them. She squinted at it and back up at Karl, uncertainty written in the drawn lines around her lips and eyes as she hesitantly reversed the blade. Karl held himself still and silent, afraid anything might break the fragile hold he had on her.

She slowly extend the knife, hilt first, towards him. Karl slowly closed his hand about the blade, refusing to breathe until he eased it loose from her grasp, taking care not to cut her hand.

He returned his eyes to hers as he nonchalantly slid the weapon out of reach. "Thanks," he said, seeing the slight inclination of her head in response. "It's not very comfortable in here. What's say we get outta here. Maybe get something to eat before hitting our racks?" A single tear slip from the corner of her eye as her lips tightened. Karl tensed again.

"I don't…I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered. "So frakkin' tired, you know."

"I know. It's ok now. Let's go for a walk, just a short one then you can rest," he said, sliding close enough to take her trembling hand in his and gently giving it a tug. Scooting backwards, he eased her out of the confined place until he could stand and lift her upright. He pulled her into a hug, supporting most of her weight as her legs refused to hold her.

Continuing to murmur reassuring words into her hair, he grimly met Cottle's gaze and turned to slowly make their way along the aisle. As they moved from the row of crates, they both looked up to see the Admiral standing alongside the Chief, and just beyond, the figure of Lee Adama striding towards the group.

With a stricken cry, Kara collapsed and Helo quickly caught her up in his arms, then stepped by the Admiral to where the doctor had a gurney waiting. As he eased the form of his friend onto the rolling bed, Karl distantly noted how light she was. She was so fragile now in body and mind.

Unable to bear watching the orderly strap Kara's still form down, Helo turned to face the assembled men and anger coursed through his blood as he saw Lee's face change from a cold mask to concern when he caught sight of Kara's unconscious form.

As the smaller man started to move towards the gurney, Karl stepped between.

"You! Stay the frak away!" he said through gritted teeth as he jabbed a finger into Lee's chest.

"Get your hand off me, Captain, and move aside," Lee bit out.

"Not happening, _Major_. This is your fault." Helo dropped his hand, but only so he could move in chest to chest with the other man. "You just had to keep pushing. Shoved her until she broke. Well, not any more!"

Admiral Adama quickly stepped forward. _"Enough! Y_ou two, back off. _Now!"_ he ordered. Both men took a reluctant step apart, neither dropping the gaze of the other as the Admiral turned to Cottle. "Doctor, please see to Kara."

As the gurney behind him began to move, Karl moved to follow, only to be halted by his commander's voice. "Captain Agathon, the Doc won't be allowing visitors for awhile. I want a report on my desk in an hour. Then—and only then—may you go to sickbay."

"Yes, Sir," Karl said, adding a reluctant nod. He was about to leave but paused as he saw Lee move to follow the gurney and was stopped by the Admiral's hand on his arm.

"Major, I believe you have the morning briefing and CAP to oversee," the older Adama said. Karl saw Lee's face tighten as he got the message.

Leaving the hanger bay, confident that the Admiral wasn't planning on allowing Lee to go off to sickbay on his own, Karl strode back to his quarters. He wanted to get his report done as soon as possible so he could get back to Kara. Besides, he desperately needed to talk with Sharon. His stomach twisted as he remembered again Kara's physical and mental state.

Hadn't the gods given her enough grief?


	48. Chapter 48 Revelations

Chapter 48 Revelations

Cottle pulled the curtain aside, giving the three men waiting beyond a glimpse of Kara, looking incredible small in the hospital bed, before the doctor tugged the drape closed behind him. He took a moment to scrutinize the officers, not missing the angry tension between the younger men. Frowning, he considered his options. Not like he had a lot of them to choose from, he scoffed to himself.

"This way, gentlemen," he said, giving a jerk of the head for them to follow as he lead the procession to his office.

While Helo closed the hatch, providing them some privacy, Cottle dropped the thick medical record on his cluttered desk, the folder making a slapping sound in the quiet room. He tapped a finger atop the folder, gathering his thoughts before turning to face his worried audience.

"How is she, Doc?" the Admiral's hoarse question speaking for the trio.

"I've cleaned and sutured the cuts. They're mostly superficial. It's the infection and beginnings of pneumonia that's a concern right now." He stuck two fingers in the breast pocket of his overcoat, pulling a cigarette free and lighting it before continuing, "Got her on one of the new batch of antibiotics the _Zeppelin's_ been cranking out, and other meds to bring her temp down. Between the fever, dehydration and blood loss it's not surprising she's delirious."

"That's why she was—" Helo began, probably hoping Kara's broken state could be explained away as mere fever symptoms.

Cottle brusquely interrupted, "Don't fool yourself. Her demons drove Starbuck into hiding long before the infection. Though, I think part of it can be blamed on sleep psychosis. Got a feeling she's not been getting much." The doctor shook his head. "We're just damned lucky the Chief found her when he did." He saw the men exchange bleak glances and knew his message of how close they'd come to losing her had been received.

"But she's going to be fine. Going t-to live?" Lee asked, voice and eyes practically pleading for a reassurance Cottle was loathe to give.

"Live? Probably. Finished the transfusion and I'm still pumping her full of replenishers, but they can only do so much. With the infection the next twenty-four hours are critical." He scratched a bushy eyebrow, feeling an unaccustomed sorrow making what he had to say so much harder. "But…she's far from fine. That girl's broken and we've got to figure why before we have a chance at fix'n her."

He met the gaze of each, noting the worry and determination on Captain Agathon's face, the lost and nearly desperate expression of Apollo's, but it was the shame-ridden guilt in his Admiral's eyes that surprised the physician. No. None of them were going to enjoy this conversation. Taking a deep drag, he slowly released the smoke out on a sigh into the silent room.

"Look…I need to know what the frakkin' Cylons did to her. So, we'll start there," he said with an expectant look at the three men. Each seemed startled by his question, and he was perplexed by their identically confused stares.

Cottle saw the Admiral shifted his gaze between the two younger officers before returning to meet his gaze. "What do you mean? What's the Cylons got to do with Kara?"

The doctor scrutinized the men, unable to phantom why they'd be playing dumb at a time like this. Inhaling sharply, his eyes widened as he realized what their bewildered looks meant.

"You don't know? None of you?" Cottle swept an accusing finger in an arc between them. "How can you not? You're her superior officers. What about her debrief?"

The Admiral's expression hardened as the doctor squinted at him. "There hasn't been time for an official debrief," he ground out.

"And an unofficial one?" Again, Cottle's cold glare raked the men as they shifted uncomfortably before him. Stabbing a finger at Helo, "Aren't you her friend? Surely you've talked, asked her about New Caprica?"

"I-I've been busy. Settling the refugees. With Sharon—" Helo broke off, pulling his hands behind his back. "No, Sir. She's been avoiding me and I let myself be distracted by other duties," the tall officer said, meeting the doctor's gaze with an abashed expression.

"Humph," with a grunt, Cottle swiveled his icy regard to the Major. "And you? You're her CAG."

"Well… I grounded her, so she's been off the flight rotation. And she and I… We're not exactly talking these days." The younger Adama clenched his fists at his side and met the doctor's glare with one of his own. The elderly physician took in the animosity that suddenly rolled from the Major, and wondered what disastrous turn Apollo's and Starbuck's relationship had taken to bring them to this point. His attention was pulled aside though as the Admiral stepped closer.

"Obviously you know something we don't. Tell us instead of throwing around accusations," Adama said harshly.

Cottle turned unimpressed eyes to his commander, letting the other man stew for another moment before answering. "The first day of the Occupation, Thrace was taken by the Cylons. Nobody saw her again until we returned to the Galactica." When Adama straighten as if slapped, Cottle shoved aside a grim satisfaction at the reaction; it wasn't his place to judge the Admiral, but to try to repair what was broken. And obviously, there was more damage here than he'd originally thought if the three people closest to Starbuck had no idea what she'd gone through on New Caprica.

He saw pain flicker within the blue eyes before the Admiral shuttered them and, this time hesitantly asked, "The Cylons…they had Kara for over four months?"

Nodding, Cottle said, "Way I heard it, that male Cylon, what's his name, the one from Ragnor?"

"Leoben," Adama flatly said.

"Yeah, him. Took her practically first thing, and the Chief found her when they raided the detention center during the escape. Now, from her exam, I can tell she's been tortured, but—" he was abruptly cutoff as all three men recoiled and then spoke at once.

"Frak no!"

"The bastards!"

"What! Why wasn't I—"

Cottle chopped his hand downward, cutting off their outraged exclamations.

The Admiral was not to be denied though. Face tinged red with anger, Adama raised his hands as if wanting to take hold of the doctor and shake an explanation from him. "Why's this the first I've heard of any mention of torture? You cleared her for duty. Why's it not in the report?"

Holding himself steady beneath the threatening glare, Cottle gruffly explained, "Because I _didn't_ do the physical. The Major," with a head tilt towards the CAG, "insisted on medical exams right away. I was in surgery the first few days trying to save those I could. So, Lieutenant Ishay did the pilot evaluations." Tapping the medical record again, Cottle went on, "Ishay's an excellent assistant, but she doesn't have the experience to recognize some of the subtler signs of abuse. Now that I've done a thorough examination of Captain Thrace, I have no doubts that she was subjected to torture while held by the Cylons."

"Tell me." The Admiral's granite expression gave the physician pause. Cottle suddenly hoped the man wouldn't take his anger out on the messenger.

As he lifted the manila folder, Cottle scoffed at himself, knowing he was instinctively using it as a shield against the menace he felt emanating from the senior Adama now. With a deep breath, he started to catalog his findings. "Captain Thrace has scarring on the back of her hands, her forehead and feet."

"Wait. No," Helo protested with a headshake. "I'd have seen scars on her hands."

"Not likely, Captain." Holding up his pinky, Cottle indicated the end of it as he said, "The scars are only bout this big; one on each hand at the junction of thumb and forefinger. She's got matching sets on both temples under her bangs and on the top of her feet."

"What are they from?" The question from the younger Adama as his expression tightened in concern and confusion.

Cottle's head swung back to Bill on hearing his sharp intake of breath. The craggy face seemed to crumble and they could barely hear the Admiral's muttered answer, "Electrical burns."

Keeping eyes locked with Adama's, the doctor leaned forward as he observed the color wash from his commander's face and saw the convulsive swallowing.

_Damn it all! Last thing I need is the Old Man collapsing on me now._

Hurrying forward, he shoved the shaking man into one of the office chairs. Cottle gripped the other man's wrist to check the pulse but allowed his hand to be shaken off, and stepped back a pace, deciding to give the Admiral some space…for now at least.

"I didn't…I don't understand…What did you say?" Lee looked from his father and back to the doctor then demanded in a rising voice, "What did he say?"

"They're electrical burns. The scars are from multiple electrical shocks. Had to be set on a pretty high voltage, too, to leave scars," Cottle said bluntly, not bothering to sugar coat the words for the junior Adama's benefit.

As both younger officers paled when understanding sank in, the Admiral lifted his head and rasped out, "Is that all?"

Choosing to ignore the pleading edge to the man's question, Cottle leaned against the corner of his desk, suddenly weary of the damage people inflicted on each other. Course, it wasn't people _this_ time, he consoled himself. Not that it made a frakkin' lot of difference when it came to fixing the damage.

Meeting Adama's eyes, "Don't be naïve, Bill. They had her for four months." He watched the blue-clad shoulders slump in acknowledgment. Unable to stand the sight of his devastated commander and friend, the doctor angled away so he was looking at Apollo and Helo instead. "There's two healed slash marks on her back and also a thickening of the skin around both wrists indicating that she was bound for extended periods of time. Probably shackles instead of ropes since there's no pattern marks present."

"Frakkin' bastards!" Helo punched the air in front of him, and turned in a semicircle, appearing to look for something more satisfying to hit.

Lee on the other hand, held himself rigid, like he'd been turned to stone by the revelations. The younger Adama's fair complexion was starkly pale in the fluorescent lighting of the office, and Cottle wondered if he ought to insist that the Major have a seat, too? Well, couldn't hurt. Especially since he wasn't even done with his report yet. Hooking another chair, he slid it towards Lee.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing as he added, "before you fall down." Watching Lee sag into the seat, Cottle sucked in a lungful from his previously forgotten cigarette, then, rubbing his neck, said, "The x-rays I took today confirms she's also recently had four of her ribs broken, and hairline fractures to her sternum, jaw and orbital lobe to add to her extensive collection. Probably happened two…three…months ago because they're fully healed now. She's significantly underweight but her bloodwork's clean. No sign of drugs, at least not now." Then, as an afterthought, "And she's not pregnant."

Moving away from the shell-shocked trio, Cottle reached over the desk and snagged the bedpan he used for an ashtray and crushed the remnants of his stub out. He ran a hand over the whisker stubble on his chin that he hadn't had a chance to shave off since being summoned from his bed some four hours ago. Gods. What he wouldn't give for a shower and hot meal, even if it was the same nutritional slop they'd been having for breakfast the past week. Well, sooner he got through this, sooner he'd be able to take a break.

"So gentlemen," he said, drawing each from their own distressed contemplations, "what we have here is a young woman that was a POW for an extended period of time, during which she was tortured. That's bad enough, but I can't see someone with Starbuck's history coming apart this bad if _all_ the Cylons did was hurt her physically."

The Admiral rose to his feet, eyes narrowing in speculation as he faced the doctor. "You think they messed with her mind, too?"

"Pretty standard interrogation technique. Wear a prisoner down physically and then move on to the psychological, assuming time allows. And unfortunately they had plenty of that." Cottle saw both Adamas flinch at the inadvertent reminder of their jump away, leaving the colonist—and one Kara Thrace—stranded at the mercy of the Cylons. Yup, there was a lot of guilt there. But _he_ certainly didn't blame their choice. They'd survived to return and rescue those left behind. As a military officer and physician, he understood the necessity to do whatever had to been done in the moment, whether it be an amputation—or a strategic withdrawal —and deal with the consequences afterwards.

Helo took a step forward. "Whatever they did to her, it really frakked her up. The things she was saying…" As he trailed off with a shake of his head, Cottle decided the younger man was probably replaying all the crazy mutterings they'd both heard while trying to coax Thrace from her refuge.

Well, if they were going to help her, they still needed to know more, and he was afraid their only source of information lay heavily sedated beyond the hatch. Still, Captain Thrace had been holding it together for the past three weeks, abeitly, not very well. In fact, from the sounds of it, she had been slowly imploding, all without any of these three men ever asking why. That was increasingly disturbing since it emphasized the gulf between Thrace and those that were closest to her. It was bad enough that none of them had asked her personally about her experiences, it was worse that they hadn't even bothered to make inquiries from other colonists. Just about anyone on Galactica that had been down on the planet would've been able to tell them about her disappearance.

Deciding that interviews of key personal were imperative, Cottle flipped open the medical record and jotted a quick note to himself as a reminder. Raising his gaze as he reclosed the folder, he met his old friend's eyes once again and it triggered an intuition. Something had crumpled Starbuck's last strut of support, reducing the once obnoxiously stubborn young woman to the broken one he'd just treated. Now, recalling the look of shame on the Admiral's face even before he apparently knew of her captivity, the doctor instinctively realized that there was something there, something relating to her that the Old Man deeply regretted.

"What happened? What happened three days ago, Bill?" Cottle quietly prodded, hoping that taking a personal approach might make it easier. As shame and guilt darkened his friend's face again, the doctor knew he'd been right. Sometimes he damns-well hated being right. As Adama's expression closed off again, Cottle decided he was going to have to push. "Something happened between you two. What was it?"

After casting a flickering glance at his son, the senior Adama straightened his shoulders as if to bear up under the responsibility he was about to reveal.

"I learned that Captain Thrace and Colonel Tigh had been sowing dissension among the crew." The doctor didn't miss Helo's flinch in response to Adama's words, but he kept his focus forward as the Admiral, "I confronted the two of them in the rec room. Put a pistol on the table and dared either of them to shoot me. Called them cowards… Then I—" As Bill choked off, Cottle could see his struggle in the taut cords of his neck and how he ground his jaw as if trying to chew words too bitter to swallow. After another moment, he managed to spit out the rest of his confession. "I shoved Kara from her chair. Called her a malcontent and cancer. Said she was no daughter of mine anymore and she could either get her act together or get off my ship."

Cottle wasn't the only one shocked by his words. The doctor figured he knew Bill Adama as well as anyone after all these years serving together, and he decided the only explanation for his approach with Starbuck fell under the heading of 'tough love.' And who knows, if she hadn't been so badly mind-frakked by the Cylons, it might even have been the right strategy. Thrace wasn't the sort to respond to subtle hints and nudges. Course, that's not the way things had fallen out, though. The timing fit too neatly. A badly traumatized Starbuck disowned by her father-figure would help explain the disintegration he'd witnessed in the hanger bay.

The screech of a chair pulled his attention outward again as he saw the younger Adama bolt to his feet and get right in his father's face.

"How could you frakking do that to her?" Lee grabbed the front of his dad's jacket and yanked him in even closer as he practically spit his accusation, "This is your fault!"

"You don't think I know that?" The father met his son's furious gaze with opaque eyes. He didn't try to break the younger man's hold, just continued in a voice graveled with guilt, "I read Helo's report. Heard her myself on the flight deck. Saw her fear. She was terrified I was going to send her away." As he paused, Bill's eyebrows lifted slightly. "She said she wouldn't go back. I didn't understand…back where?" Turning his head from the blue eyes so like his own, he met Cottle's widening ones. "Did she…she couldn't really think I'd send her back to New Caprica? To the Cylons?" If it were possible, Bill's eyes plunged deeper into guilt.

Helo gripped Lee's arms at the elbows, tugging slightly to loosen the younger Adama's hold on his father's lapel. "Lee, let go. This isn't helping Kara, and there's plenty of blame to go around."

The words deflated Lee's ballooning anger, causing the young man to stumble backwards until the chair hit the back of his knees and he slumped into the seat, hands covering his face. Though muffled, the men clearly heard his own confession, "I offered to open a frakking airlock for her." His shoulders hunched forward in a shudder that was close to a sob. Taking a gulping breath, he dropped his hands limply into his lap as he met his dad's eyes. "I _know_ Kara. When she acts out, it's her way of asking for help, the only way she knows how." Scrubbing at his eyes, "And I ignored it. Too frakking angry at her to see that she was tearing apart."

Taking in the guilt-laden countenance of the men before him, Cottle decided they'd had enough breast beating for now. Shoving his hands into his overcoat pockets, he cleared his throat, pulling three sets of haunted eyes his way. "Enough of the pity party already." That jerked them to attention, "So, we screwed up. Let's form a club. Maybe have patches made." The Admiral was frowning now at his flippant remarks, but Cottle drove on. "Now we know what triggered her…episode, but whatever you think, it was merely the push that shoved her over an edge we didn't know she was walking." He gave a sharp snort, then, "Hell, I even should take some blame. Knew she'd been held by the Cylons. And being too busy seems as poor an excuse for a physician as it is for a friend."

He gave a shake of his head. They'd all played their part in this debacle, including Thrace herself. The doctor knew more about the Thrace—_Kara_—then she'd probably ever realized. For one thing, he knew that the Admiral was the one person she had come to depend upon to provide her with a sense of self-worth. And if she believed that that relationship had been destroyed? It certainly would've been enough to mess her up good. Especially on top of everything else she'd been through these past months.

[ I I I I I ]

Silence had fallen heavily amongst the men in Cottle's office as each wrestled with what they'd learned.

All eyes swung to the Admiral as he broke their contemplations. "Doc, what did you mean when you said _with her history_?" he asked, a sense of foreboding building as he recalled some of Cottle's other references.

He watched Cottle move back to his desk and stare at Kara's medical record for a long minute before lifting the thick folder as if weighing it—and his words—before turning back around with a resigned sigh.

"Typically I don't discuss my patient's past conditions, confidentiality and all, or least not without an overriding reason," Cottle said, flipping the cover open, then closed again in an unsettled way that was at odds with his usual manner.

The Admiral waited for him to continue. When the doctor still hesitated, Adama prompted him, "But you think you have a reason this time?" he asked.

"Put bluntly…yes." Cottle paused yet again, the reluctance obvious in his refusing to meet their gaze. Then taking a deep breath, "Being a military surgeon, I don't deal with kids much, but that doesn't mean I don't know the medical signs when I see 'em." Adama's teeth clenched, he suddenly knew what was coming next as the doctor continued, "I've got extensive bone scans on Captain Thrace, and they're conclusive. They clearly show years of physical abuse as a child," Cottle finally spit out, his voice darkening with disgust.

Adama glanced over at his son as Lee suddenly exhaled as the doctor's meaning registered.

"How bad?" all the senior Adama was able to get out, afraid that if he said anything else, it would be a string of profanity.

"I've documented at least sixteen bone breaks—_n__ot _counting the most recent ones from her time on New Caprica" Cottle grimly answered. "Each finger on both hands, five ribs—possibly more than once, her left arm once and her right twice. Oh yeah, and evidence of a skull fracture," the doctor said, listing off the catalog of damage. "Course, no way of assessing how often or how many soft tissue injuries she may have sustained over the years," the doctor added as an afterthought.

Adama flinched at the list. And 'soft tissue injuries'… Cottle meant all the bruises, blackened eyes and bloodied noses that wouldn't show on x-rays.

"_Frak! _ What type of bastard does that to a kid?" Helo snarled, smacking his fist into his other palm.

"An accident… Kids have accidents. Or a car… Couldn't she have just…" Lee faltered, obviously not wanted to accept what the doctor was saying.

"No. These weren't caused by any 'accident', Major. Someone—probably a parent—repeatedly hit that girl hard enough to break her hands, arms, ribs and head. I can tell you that the oldest fracture occurred between the ages of two to five years and the newest set when she'd been about thirteen or fourteen, I'd guess. That young woman survived years of abuse long before the Cylons got hold of her," the doctor grimly stated.

As Dr. Cottle finished, the Admiral turned his back on the other men. He needed a moment to regain his composure. The need to hit someone—anyone—clamped his fists at his side. And that was just it; someone had been filled with such anger that they'd taken it out on a defenseless child. Had struck her small body over and over. Shutting his eyes, the Admiral's imagination supplied an image of Kara as a little girl flinching beneath blows. He opened them and gave a shake of his head, trying to dispel the vision even as his heart twisted in his chest.

Why hadn't he seen the truth earlier? She never spoke about her family, always deflecting any questions. And there _had _been hints, things she'd said or ways she'd reacted that he'd ignored. Their significance seemed blazingly obvious to him now. Again shaking his head, he turned to face the doctor.

"How long have you known?" he demanded, needing to direct his anger somewhere.

Not trying to avoid his commander's gaze now, Cottle truthfully answered, "Since she returned with that Cylon raider. I ran a full scan at the time checking for internal injuries," he admitted.

"And you didn't say anything," the Admiral grimly challenged.

"Doctor/patient confidentiality. It wasn't relevant…and Thrace had a right to her privacy," he explained, then added, "It didn't bear on her recovery then, it does now." He unflinchingly met the Admiral's glare.

"So, what does this mean for her?" Adama asked, needing the doctor to clarify why it was important to know now, when he'd withheld the information before.

"Interrogation techniques vary. If time allows, the subject's response is studied and the methods refined," the doctor explained, hoping to keep the discussion as matter-fact as possible. Not that he expected to succeed.

"Interrogation techniques?" Lee spat out. "What you mean is that they tortured her, then took notes to refine their _technique_ for the next round."

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. They certainly had her long enough to try different approaches," the doctor said, again falling back on neutral terms.

"You think they worked over more than her body, don't you?" the Admiral prompted, beginning to pace as he continued, "She resisted their physical abuse—she'd had practice, right? So, they changed tactics?" he guessed.

"I don't _know_, but yeah, that's what I think happened," Cottle agreed. "What we have to do now is figure out how to keep her alive, and I tell you that the odds aren't good," he grimaced. "What we have is a young woman that was repeatedly traumatized as a child. Then again on that gods-forsaken rock. _That _would have been bad enough, but her experiences back on Galactica since have damaged the relationships she needs to overcome those traumas. And that, gentlemen, is the crux of our current dilemma."

"So what can we do?" Adama asked, feeling despair at the magnitude of what they faced.

Cottle contemplated his hands before saying, "I'm just not sure. I'll keep her lightly sedated for the next day or so, see how she does. But I'd suggest posting a guard inside her curtain, maybe someone she knows.

"A suicide watch is what you mean," Lee protested.

"Yes, Major. That's _exactly_ what I mean," the doctor grimly said. "The good news is she only sliced herself up, instead of opening a vein. The bad news, given the opportunity, there's a good chance she'll go there next." With a glare at the younger man, "I'd rather not give her that chance, how about you?"

The doctor watched Lee run both hands through his hair, then turn away as he clasped his fingers together at the back of his head, the anguish easy to read in the tensed shoulders. Unfortunately, Cottle hadn't the time, energy or inclination to deal with the young man's issues at the moment.

One frakked-up pilot at a time.

"I'll arrange for a Marine to be present at all times." The Admiral rubbed at his jaw. "Maybe Sergeant Mathias, she and Starbuck have always gotten on well."

"Corporal Paulson from the brig. Kara said he's a good sort," Helo volunteered.

"Whatever," Cottle said, "just make sure it's someone that can keep their trap shut. Last thing Starbuck needs is gossip—_more gossip_—making the rounds amongst the crew." Then, making usher motions towards the door, the doctor added, "Bout all we can do until she wakes up. Then maybe we can put together a course of treatment."


	49. Chapter 49 Introspection

Chapter 49 Introspection

Bill Adama sat beside the bed clasping Kara's limp hand in his as he mentally berated himself for driving her into this state. After the doctor's revelations in his office, Cottle had finally allowed him to come sit with Kara since she was still heavily sedated. The physician had made it clear that any future visiting privileges were dependent on Kara's mental condition upon her awakening. Sitting beside her still form, Bill slowly stroked her head, remembering doing this with his sons when they were little. His hand drifted down her pale cheek and he frowned at how hot she felt beneath his fingertips. Cottle had said she was getting medications to bring her temperature down, but it sure didn't feel like it was working. Worry further deepened the grooves of his face.

He watched her slow breaths, heard the slight rattle with each exhale.

What hell had she gone through on New Caprica to bring her to this point? He hadn't even the vaguest idea because he hadn't asked her, hadn't given her the chance to explain her actions and attitude since the exodus. Nor had he bothered to ask anyone else. No. Since she had appeared uninjured, he'd assumed she wasn't wounded.

_Well, I was wrong wasn't I?_

Earlier, while waiting for the doctor to finish his examination and give his report, Bill had had far too much time to replay the scene three days ago in the rec room. Why hadn't he seen then how badly she was hurting, seen her behavior for what it really was? _What've I done?_ For he knew that his _discussion_ with her had been the final push that had sent her crashing down.

Regardless of whatever she'd been through during the Occupation, he was responsible for her current condition. He'd shoved her from the chair. It had been _his_ words that had figuratively kicked her while she was down. He'd been too angry at the time to acknowledge her pain. Now, replaying the encounter, he remembered how she'd avoided his eyes until she lay sprawled at his feet and heard the condemnations he'd practically spat at her. Her eyes had widened, then quickly shuttered again, but not before the devastating wound he'd inflicted had registered in their green depths.

In his personal life, Bill had let many people down, but he felt like he'd sunk to a new low, calling her names and threatening to kick her from her home, all without ever giving her a chance to explain herself. He had never even offered to listen. Shame heated his face.

Feeling a pair of tears track down his face, he lifted her hand to his cheek, wishing somehow that she could see how much he regretted his words and actions, how much she really meant to this foolish old man. Quietly clearing his throat of the constriction, Bill could only hope that it wasn't too late to repair their damaged relationship. First, though, they had to deal with the physical and mental fallout, and he could only hope that the Doc would have a plan.

[ I I I I I ]

After the meeting with Cottle, Lee had been called to the flight deck to deal with a pair of nuggets. The two young pilots had quickly learned that their CAG was in a shitty mood and willing to share it.

Once he'd handled that situation, he had been intercepted by the Chief asking after Starbuck. His first inclination had been to snap at the other man that it wasn't any of his business, but then he remembered the times Tyrol had tried to clue him in that something was wrong with Kara—and he'd completely blown him off. She wasn't the only one Lee owed an apology to. So, he'd told Tyrol that the doctor expected her to recover fine physically, and had left the unspoken concern about her mental state hanging since he didn't have any other answers at the moment.

Then he'd run into Dee in the corridor. She'd come looking for him, saying only that she'd thought they could have lunch together. Torn between his need to check on Kara and his guilt over his conflicted feelings towards Dee, Lee had agreed and struggled through a lunch he didn't want and a wife that suddenly seemed as unappealing, which only deepened the guilt he felt.

Afterwards, rather than going to sickbay as his heart demanded, Lee had returned to the CAG's office to work on the mound of reports that seemed to take up half his waking hours. Seated alone with the pilot rotation sheets spread before him, Lee's eyes kept roaming over the lists, wishing to see a certain name there but knowing it wasn't. And that was his doing.

Grounding her had seemed the right course of action at the time. Her reckless disregard of his orders could've gotten herself or others killed. Damn it, he'd _had_ to revoke her flight status.

Shuffling the sheets together, he put them aside and pulled another stack towards him. Clicking the pen, Lee tried to focus his attention on the reports, knowing the sooner he finished the sooner he could check in with Cottle. After ten minutes of reading and rereading the same status update, he shoved the document away, watching as it fluttered off the desk to the metal-plated floor.

With a sigh, Lee stood and retrieved the flighty paper. Rather than return to his seat, he began to pace the small cabin, unconsciously crumpling the form in his hand as his agitation built. Anger quickened his breath. Anger at himself this time as he remembered Racetrack standing before him in this very room trying to tell him that Starbuck was sick. Remembered confronting Kara in the bunkroom. He'd blamed her appearance and behavior on a hangover, despite her denial. Totally ignored how shadowed her eyes were, how sunken her cheeks and the general gauntness to her previously muscular frame.

Swiveling on his heel, Lee threw the pen as hard as he could at the back wall, watching with a vague satisfaction as it broke on impact and the pieces scattered. His gratification abruptly turned to bitter recognition that he'd reacted the same with Kara. Let his anger—and hurt—lead him to strike out at her at every opportunity. And, just like the pen, she'd broken into pieces beneath his contempt.

Lords of Kobol, how had they gotten to this point?

He'd never meant to hurt her like this, he told himself, but a voice in his head whispered that he was lying. He had damned well meant to hurt her, make her feel some of the pain her rejection and defection had flayed him with. Each cutting word he'd flung at her had been well aimed and hit with a precision Lee had seen in the waver of the green eyes…and her pain had been a balm to his own. A year's worth of bile had been locked away inside of him, and Lee had finally found a way of expelling it. Since her returned to Galactica, he'd been spewing it over Kara with every word and look he gave her.

She didn't deserve what he'd done to her. Sure, her actions had torn a chunk of his soul away, but she'd had the right to make the choice she had. And, hell, maybe it had even been the right one. Looking at their relationship, Lee was ashamed of all the times he'd abused it, starting all the way back to Colonial Day and Baltar. He was the one that had been too afraid to declare himself, then had stepped aside for the VP and left early. What right did he have to throw it in Kara's face the next day? He had purposely goaded her, all but outright calling her a slut as he pushed her into throwing the first punch. He'd counted on it. It gave him the excuse to respond in kind because the jealous part of him wanted Kara to suffer for choosing someone other than him. With that incident, he'd set a precedent of strike and retaliation that would mar the rest of their relationship.

Lee put his palms against the wall, leaning for support as he faced all his failures in his dealings with Kara. On her return from Caprica, he hadn't even noticed that she was physically hurt. Had to learn later from Helo that Kara had been shot. That little nugget of information came out at the wake they'd held for one of the pilots killed by the Raider they'd nicknamed Scar. The drinking that night was winding down and Lee had found himself sitting at a corner table with Helo, both silently watching Kara off at another corner table nursing her umpteenth glass of ambrosia. Both men had consumed quite a bit of alcohol themselves and Lee wasn't too surprised when the Raptor pilot started muttering about Sharon, Caprica and the Resistance. His attention had quickly focused though when Helo let slip that Starbuck had been injured in an ambush. He'd coaxed more details from the drunk man and had sat back stunned when the full impact of Helo's revelations had struck him.

After their aborted attempt at sex, and Helo's revelations, Lee had decided to give Kara space. She obviously wasn't interested in him _that_ way and he was determined not to ruin their friendship.

Then came the Pegasus and his spacewalk.

Looking back, Lee could see how Kara had reached out to him. At the time, he hadn't cared. He'd felt numb and just wanted to be left alone and had pushed her away, turned to others for solace instead of his best friend. And when she'd shot him on Cloud Nine, their already strained relationship took another blow. It was hard not to see it as one more of Starbuck's infamous frak-ups, especially when she didn't even bother to come visit him in sickbay. He had burnished the anger and resentment to a sharp point then impaled her with it when they'd both been assigned to the Pegasus. The guilt and pain that had flashed across her face recalled her expression when she'd apologized to him just before taking the Raider and returning to Caprica.

It seemed that he was always making her feel like shit, whether from physical blows or verbal.

Lee pushed off the wall and threw himself back in his chair, running hands through his hair as he remembered the jealous pain of seeing how happy Kara had looked when she'd introduced him to Samuel T Anders for the first time. Sure, she'd been drunk, but only part of that was due to the alcohol the two of them were knocking back. Kara was giddy in a way Lee hadn't seen since she'd been with his brother Zak. And just like Zak, Anders seemed to cherish Kara and dote on her, not judge and belittle her like he did. It was no frakking wonder she had fled from Lee when morning had come on New Caprica. Anders was the better man.

And now he was dead, just like Zak.

"_Gods, Kara, I'm so frakking sorry,"_ he put the apology out into the empty room, hoping desperately that he'd have the chance to give it to her in person.


	50. Chapter 50 Patient

Chapter 50 Patient

Cottle was worried.

And he hated worrying, it upset his digestion.

He stood beside Kara Thrace's bed, chart in hand, and contemplated what to tell the Admiral.

After carefully examining the unconscious woman when she was first brought in on the gurney, he had ordered sedation, wanting to give her body time to fight the physical damage without being compromised by her mental condition. By the second day her fever had broken and her wounds were starting to heal nicely, so he'd reduced the sedative level, expecting her to wake sometime later that day. She hadn't.

Still not worried the following morning, he had halted all the tranquilizers. It was now evening on her third day under his care and she should have started to come out of it by now. All her medical stats looked good, if somewhat depressed, about what he'd expect from someone deeply unconscious. Just for good measure, he'd run another CT to make sure there wasn't any brain bleeding he'd missed the first time around. Thrace's brain was squeaky clean, and wouldn't she get a laugh if he told her that. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the thought.

Everyone thought he and the volatile Viper pilot didn't get along. Everyone was wrong. He understood where she came from, he'd seen her scans after all. A childhood like that would have taught her to fear hospitals and to lie to, and expect lies from, her doctors as a matter of course. He'd always made it a point to be bluntly honest with her and she had respected him for it. Thrace scorned weakness, so he didn't sugar coat his words or treatment. No pity or sympathy welcomed on _that_ front.

They had actually come to an understanding during her first month after transferring onto Galactica when she'd sprained an ankle on one of her morning runs and the CAG had insisted she get it checked out. Though he hadn't known of the mess of broken bones back then, Cottle had years of experience with treating recalcitrant patients and he'd instinctively known the best approach to take with the defiant young officer. His judgment hadn't been proven wrong, up until now.

Cottle reflexively reached into his pocket for a cigarette, then slipped it back away with a sigh as he remembered that her lungs were still compromised by the mild case of pneumonia. He tapped his pen on the chart instead, irritated at his patient's continued unconscious state.

"Always gotta do things your way, huh?" he muttered to the silent woman.

Deciding to give it one more night, Cottle confirmed with the staff to wake him if there was _any_ change in Captain Thrace's condition, and then ambled off to bed.

[ I I I I I ]

Well, she was awake. Lot of frakkin' difference it made, Cottle thought as he stood in the same spot ten hours later.

The night nurse had roused him a little after four that morning with the news that Captain Thrace had opened her eyes. He'd hurriedly dressed before going to her cubicle. _Shouldn't have bothered,_ he grumped as he consulted his notes for the third time. Yes, her eyes were open, pupils equal and responsive to light. Yes, all the instrument readings were more in line with a conscious person than one in a coma. But that was all the good news to be had.

Even though all the readings stated that Kara Thrace was awake, the actual fact was significantly different. His patient was responsive alright, but only to the simplest of commands if repeated several times. There was also an unnatural rigidity to her body that seemed in line with his current theory. At least the EEG showed an adequate level of brain activity.

Adequate level. Cottle wondered how he was going to explain _that_ to the Admiral. All systems go, but the pilot hadn't bothered to show up to fly the vessel. Right, that was going to go over well.

As he stepped out of the curtained area, making sure the drape closed completely behind him, Cottle looked up to see the anxious faces of Thrace's triad as he had mental dubbed the three men. Pulling his delayed cigarette out, he lit it and waved for them to follow to his office again.

Deciding there was no use pussyfooting around the news, he said, "Thrace has gone catatonic." He watched each of them process his statement before turning his attention to the Admiral. "She woke this morning, or at least that's what the machines say. Her eyes are open but she's not home. And, no, I don't know what the frak to do now," he quickly added, cutting off their words before they could start in on him.

All three were subdued as they absorbed the implications, then Adama cleared his throat and tentatively asked, "Isn't there something? Drugs or…" he trailed off.

"A proper hospital would have a few that _might_ work," he admitted, then shook a finger at Adama, "might's the key. Besides…I don't have them so it's a non-issue anyways." As he saw his old friend's face fall, he relented and gave them what little hope he realistically had, "Look, this type of traumatic reaction usually passes on its own. Maybe in a few hours or a few days. Best thing is to let her rest and keep her environment calm and safe."

"Can I see her?" Lee asked.

Cottle gave the young man the once over then glanced back at his commanding officer, trying to work out the most tactful way of making his position clear. Ah, hell. Tact had never been his forte anyways.

"No, you may not." Then meeting the senior Adama's equally intense look. "You neither, Admiral." Both men started to protest and he waved them silent with his palms. "Both of you have clearly said that your interactions with Thrace lately have been…problematic. Now, I'm not saying that you won't be able to see her in the future. But right now, gentlemen, that young woman is my patient and when I say she needs a calm, safe setting…_that_ doesn't include either of you." He stubbed out the butt for emphasis as he added, "Too damned many issues right now between you two and her."

"But, I need—" Lee started, only to be interrupted by his father's hand descending on his shoulder.

"I know, son. But Kara's not in a place to hear it just yet. Her needs come first." Cottle saw the younger Adama's shoulders slump beneath his dad's grip and knew he wasn't going to get any trouble from that pair, at least for now.

"And me?" Helo asked.

"She responded to you before," Cottle grudgingly acknowledged. Rubbing one eyebrow, he mulled the pros and cons then gave a resigned shrug, "Ok, we'll see if she'll come around for you again." He moved to leave, but paused when the Admiral cleared his throat.

"I'd like a word," Adama said to the doctor while giving the two younger men a look that clearly indicated that they were dismissed from the discussion.

After a brief glance at his commander, Cottle turned to Helo. "Wait for me by Thrace's bed. Do not speak to her. Do not touch her. Wait," he said, tone and scowl promising dire consequences if disobeyed. Then to Apollo in the same manner, "Major, I'll let you know as soon as I feel it's safe for you to visit." Then adding a warning stab of his finger, "You try anything before then, I'll have your ass in hack so fast your feet will be ten minutes behind." He glowered at Apollo until the younger Adama gave a nod. He only hoped it was in agreement and not just acknowledgment.

After waving irritably for the two men to go ahead and get out of his office, Cottle reluctantly turned to face Bill Adama. He kept silent, letting his friend lead into whatever discussion he hadn't wanted to include the other two in. He watched as the Admiral stepped to the door, giving it a slight push to make sure it was securely latched before swiveling on his heels to face Cottle.

"Was she raped?" Adama asked, the question spilling forth as if vomited.

Cottle wasn't surprised to hear what Bill wanted to discuss in private. In the past few days the Admiral had been busy debriefing anyone that might have knowledge of what had happened to Kara, both on New Caprica and since her return to Galactica. He'd made the resulting reports available to Cottle, and the picture the doctor gleaned was far from complete, but ominous in its implications. They really had few details about the months of her imprisonment, but certain points were highly disturbing, namely that the Chief had found Thrace in an apartment she'd appeared to be sharing with a Cylon male and a child. This was what brought Bill to toss out his explosive question.

"I've no physical evidence…but, yeah, I'd say it's likely," he gruffly confirmed his friend's fear.

Adama turned away, and Cottle saw the heavy shoulders shudder and worried that the added stress might push the other man into a collapse of his own. He made a mental note to schedule the Admiral for a physical. The remains of the human race were riding on this man's health and Cottle was bedamned if he'd let Adama work and worry himself into an exhaustion-induced heart attack.

The Admiral seemed to gather his resolve and shake off the rage and grief to swing back to face the doctor again.

"What _do_ you know?"

"Next to nothing," admitted Cottle with a shake of the head. "But you really think this Leoben held her four months in the homey little setup the Chief described and didn't try to make it a reality?" He took the Admiral's grim nod as agreement.

Adama cleared his throat twice before finally managing to ask, "What do we do now?"

"Do? Wait. See if Agathon can get through to her."

"And when she comes out of it?"

Cottle heard, and understood, that Bill wasn't willing to consider the possibility of her _not_ coming out of the catatonic state.

"Again, don't know. Have to play it by ear. See if we can get her to tell us what the hell happened to her. But…" he trailed off as he considered the odds of the young woman opening up about her time in captivity. And if there _was_ a sexual component to her torture—the odds of Thrace talking about it to any of the men in her little circle was pretty damned remote.

"Let's not go dredging for trouble till we know there's something to find," Cottle said, heading towards the door. "I'd better go check that the Agathon's followed orders."

Leading the Admiral out, Cottle sent one of his rare prayers towards the ceiling, asking the gods to give him some divine guidance in handling the young woman, for he feared that if Kara Thrace went down now, she'd take the heart of the Galactica right along with her.

[ I I I I I ]

Karl stood to the side watching Kara blankly stare at the ceiling above her bed. He'd kept to the doctor's restrictions, not speaking, nor moving to take her hand when he'd entered the curtained off enclosure. Her eyes hadn't even registered his presence and the slackness of her features confirmed the doctor's words more than any machine could. Kara Thrace might be physically present, but all else that encompassed his dynamic friend had obviously gone AWOL.

He was torn between the desire to rage at her, demanding that she haul her ass back from wherever she'd fled, and the competing impulse to slide onto the bed and cradle the broken woman and make promises that he'd make sure that nothing ever hurt her again. Both options were equally attractive and potentially as problematic. Would challenging Starbuck lead the traumatized Kara back to them, or drive her further away? And as for making promises to protect her—usually he could've counted on Starbuck to hand him his ass for even suggesting it, but Kara might be in need of just that type of support from him right now.

Shutting his eyes, Karl silently worked his way through his alphabetical curse list. He and Kara called it the Starbuck ABCs. They'd made a game of it one night over ales to see if they could come up with a curse word for every letter of the alphabet. By the end of the evening, they'd succeeded, though a few were their own proud creations and raised eyebrows whenever shared.

He'd made it as far as the easy S when he heard the rustle of the curtain and opened his eyes to see Cottle enter. He gave a nod to the Doc, not sure if the no speaking restriction was lifted yet and not wanting to give the man any reason to kick him out.

"Has she looked at you?" Cottle asked as he moved to the other side of Kara's bed and studied the instrument readouts.

"Not a flicker," he answered softly, still unsure what manner to use to try to reach her.

"Humph," Cottle grumped then turned to meet his eyes. "Well, take her hand and talk to her, man," the doctor said with a hint of irritation.

Over the next couple of hours, Karl tried every idea he had to draw Kara out. Cajoling and ranting, joking and ordering, reminiscing and belittling, none even elicited a twitch from the still form. He'd gone so far, with Cottle's permission, as to lightly slap her. Nothing seemed to reach her. The doctor had exited the curtained area a little while ago and now Karl was left on his own, reclining on the bed with Kara held across him with her cheek pressed to his chest. Even settled against him, Kara's body maintained a rigidity at odds with the slackness of her expression.

Karl blinked back the wetness in his eyes as he considered which was worse, the confused, chaotic Kara from the crate cubby or this soulless doll he was now holding. At least before she'd known him, had still been fighting. Now…it was like the fight was over and she'd left the ring.

Maybe he just wasn't the right person to call her back. Laying on the bed in sickbay, Karl considered their other candidates. Before New Caprica—and Sam—he would've had no doubt that Lee could've reached her. Something had happened though to damage their bond, and he was afraid Cottle was right that the Lee was more likely to make matters worse than help.

The same thing went for the Old Man. Karl felt a wave of guilt flush through him over his part in the Admiral's confrontation with Kara and Saul Tigh. If he'd only handled them himself, things might have gone differently. He had never expected the Admiral to come down on Kara the way he had.

Few people really understood the role Bill Adama played in Kara Thrace's life. They only saw the Viper pilot the Admiral favored above all others. Thanks to their time together on Caprica running from the Cylons, Karl had learned more about Kara's parents than he'd known in all the years prior. On their return to Galactica, hers and the Admiral's interactions took on a whole new dimension in his eyes. In the Old Man, Kara had found a father that showed her love and approval. Even more than that though, he had been there for her. First, in his support after Zak's death, and later proving himself again when, against military protocol, he'd held the fleet around the moon after she'd gone down.

Karl knew that intellectually Kara would've understood that the Admiral hadn't had a choice about retreating when the Cylons had jumped in above New Caprica. She might have even been able to handle the fact that it took four long months before a rescue could be staged during which she suffered gods knew what torment. All of that paled though before the Old Man's confession of his rec room ultimatum.

No. As close as Kara and the Admiral were, Adama's words had triggered her final descent and he wasn't going to be able to fix that bridge overnight.

So, who did that leave? Most of the other crewmembers were barely more than acquaintances.

The crying of a distressed child drew his thoughts outward for a moment as he wondered what the Doc was doing to make the kid scream like that. As the screeching got louder, Karl felt something move against his side. It took a second for him to realize that Kara's hand was twitching.

"Hey you! Kara, can you hear me?" he asked, gently moving her to the side so he could see her face. Disappointment dropped his heart when he saw the same blank look in her eyes. Her hand abruptly stilled. Swallowing against the bitter let-down, it took a minute for Karl to notice that the distant child had stopped crying. Glancing towards the closed curtain and back at Kara, his brows knit in speculation.

The child.

The Chief had said that Kara had insisted in going back for a little girl she'd said was her daughter. Kacey, he thought her name was. And then the child's mother had apparently reclaimed her once they'd returned to Galactica. Since none of them had ever considered Starbuck as mother material, it hadn't occurred to them what her comments to the Chief might mean. Were they overlooking the little girl's importance?

"Kara, tell me about Kacey," he said, watching for any reaction. None came. "Who's Kacey?" Still nothing. Determined now not to get discouraged, he pondered what else to try. Leaning forward, he placed a gentle kiss on Kara's forehead and slid out from beneath her, carefully rearranging her on the bed so the various cords and IV lines weren't tangled.

"I'll be back soon, Starbuck. And maybe I can even bring a visitor." He gave her a last wistful look, wishing with all his heart she'd just sit up and call him an idiot. Turning away with a sigh, Karl hurried off in search of the doctor.


	51. Chapter 51 Bird Call

Chapter 51 Bird Call

Grey-shaded clouds cloaked her minds eye.

Numbness nestled nerves that had been subjected to too much abuse.

Taste and smell were meaningless in the place where she huddled.

Only sound flitted in and around like an annoying moth.

Kara mentally shooed the noise away, seeking again the silence that held none of the pain of remembrance.

The murmur came again, flicking a nerve of both pain and pleasure, need and denial.

The voice slowly took on form within her mind.

—a golden-splayed halo and a cherub's shy smile—

A name teased forth.

—Kacey—

The name brought sensation to her skin and she felt a soft pat against her cheek.

Kara breathed in, scenting soap and sunshine.

"Kawa, Kawa, Kawa," was spoken in a soft but demanding mantra.

Again, soft skin brushing her face, then her nose was pinched shut by tiny fingers and she was forced to part her lips to inhale. Her eyelids parted, too, blinking slowing against florescent lights.

"Up. Kawa, up. Up," the little girl excitedly said as Kara's eyes focused on her.

"K-Kace?" hoarsely whispered. Kara tried swallowing but her mouth was so dry. Instead, she reached a shaking hand towards the face so like her own and touched a cherry-brushed cheek.

Kacey had been laying sprawled across Kara's chest, now she sat up, bouncing slightly as she repeated, "Up" then switched to, "Play wiper, wiper," and started making zooming noises as she dipped her little hand around in the air.

"Easy there, Kacey," a female voice cautioned, and Kara's focus finally widened enough to take in the person at her beside. The woman had one hand hovering protectively behind Kacey's back to keep the child from tumbling off.

As memory placed the face, reality crashed in on Kara as devastatingly as if she'd been in the pretend ship Kacey just rammed into the surface of the bed. The woman was Kacey's mother.

Her real one.

Which Kara wasn't.

Shutting her eyes against the tears that suddenly burned her lids, she tried to retreat back into the protective folds of her mind. But barbed-wired thoughts barred the path now. She could hear Kacey calling to her again, voice rising as Kara kept her eyes closed, just trying to breathe through the stench of overwhelming memories.

Giving up her attempt to go inward, Kara opened her eyes and gave the little girl the best smile she could resurrect from the ashes of her soul.

"Hey, Kace... I'm kinda tired," she managed. "Maybe we can play later, Ok?"

The blonde eyebrows lowered and the girl's expression took on just the touch of a pout, but cleared as her mother lifted her from the bed.

"We'll come back later, sweetie," the woman said to the child, settling her into place on her hip. "Let's go see what Tanny's got for lunch, huh?"

"Cookie. Cookie," Kacey started chanting with one finger stuck in her mouth.

"I'm glad you're going to be Ok, Captain Thrace," the woman said to Kara. "Come down to Dogsville and see Kacey whenever you want. She's missed you." With that, she turned and walked away with the little girl looking back over her shoulder at Kara. One miniature hand waved bye and Kara found her own half raised in response.

Once the pair stepped from view, she let her palm fall limply back onto the blanket and only then did the presence of the two watching men impinge on her attention. Karl and Cottle were standing off to the far side of the curtained enclosure. As if released from some paralysis, the pair moved to her in tandem, Cottle lifting her wrist and Karl around the other side to take her free hand in his.

Her eyes flicked once from one man to the other before she turned her gaze to the plated ceiling above her. She had been betrayed by the last two she'd ever expected. Well, that was pretty much everyone now. Shouldn't be surprised, she bitterly thought.

"You had us worried there, Buck," Karl softly teased, apparently oblivious to the sucking wound in her chest.

Kara kept her eyes averted, refusing to let the harrowed part of her out to rage at him. She'd learned long ago not to let her enemies see that they'd succeeded in hurting her. It just gave them a target to focus on. Putting that lesson to use, she resolutely refused to acknowledge either man as they tried to talk to her. After months of practice with Leob...with _him_, she was a pro at tuning out. These two didn't stand a chance of scratching the panes she slipped into place.

Cottle eventually left with a parting shot to Helo, "You keep trying, I've other patients that actually _want _to get better."

Once the doctor left, Kara rolled away from Helo, presenting her back in as clear a dismissal as she could give without actually acknowledging him. She heard his frustrated sigh and felt a bitter satisfaction. Maybe he'd leave now, too.

He didn't.

Helo—she refused to think of him as Karl—droned on about how worried everyone was about her. The Karl she knew wouldn't lie to her like this. It just went to prove that he—a man actually willing to love a skin-job—wasn't the friend she'd shared so many secrets with. The Cylon had obviously killed that man, leaving just this Helo-shadow behind.

She let his words wash over and away, taking little heed in what he said until his silence signaled that he'd finally left, too. Good riddance. Alone was so much better. Why couldn't they have just left her alone? It was better than this existence where she was nothing but a frak-up whose soul had been tattered and tainted until not even the gods wanted it.

Kara swallowed and let the wetness of her despair trail down her cheeks now that there wasn't anyone here to witness her weakness.

Gods! Kacey…

To lose her once and been an unexpected torment. To wake, and for a moment think that the golden child smiling at her was hers, only to have the truth rubbed in her face as Kacey was carried away _again _was unbearable. Yet, Helo and Cottle had just done that to her.

And then they acted like nothing had even happened.

Kara knew betrayal wore many faces; she'd just never imagined it with Karl's likeness.


	52. Chapter 52 Sentinels

Chapter 52 Sentinels

Sergeant Erin Mathias sat in a chair unobtrusively off in one corner of the curtained enclosure and watched her charge toss restlessly. She'd been gratified at the Admiral's confidence in choosing her to act as Captain Thrace's personal armswoman, as she thought of herself. Her glow at the Old Man's approval had dissipated when he'd explained in full what her duties would entail and why they were necessary. The Admiral hadn't held much back once he'd impressed upon her his expectation of discretion.

She liked Starbuck, had every since they'd met on the Raptor that delivered them to their new duty station on the Galactica the same day some four years ago. When the Admiral filled her in that she was basically on a suicide watch for the younger woman, it had touched a sore spot in Erin's own life. She'd lost a close cousin many years ago when the teenaged boy had hung himself. Many times in the years since, she had gone over all the little signs she hadn't recognized until it was too late.

Now, learning that the cocky Starbuck was at risk of taking the same route was an unexpected shock.

Having settled on New Caprica, she had already known of the Captain's imprisonment and had felt an uneasy concern for the volatile woman since their return to space. It hadn't seemed her place to approach Thrace or the Admiral about her erratic behavior at the time; looking back, though, Erin saw the glimpses of the similarities to her cousin.

She quietly rose, careful not to cause the chair to scrape and disturb the sleeping figure. The Sergeant stretched and glanced at her watch, resisting the urge to tap it to make sure it was running. She let a breath out on an quiet sigh. Just two hours into her twelve hour shift and already bored. Course, that was the life of a Marine on Galactica, ninety percent of their time bored nearly to tantrums and the other ten percent fighting for their lives.

_Should have listened to mom when she said the administrative side was the way to go._

At least reading reports would've given her something to do. Of course, if she'd followed dear mom's sage advice, one Erin Mathias probably would be among the billions of dead now instead of standing a boring shift on the last surviving battlestar.

_Life's a bitch and then you die, right? So bite her first and don't ever let go._

That was her drill instructor, Sergeant Horatio Bartholomew's favorite quote whenever something had gone sideways on them in training. She wryly grinned at the image of one Sergeant Bart barking out orders and turning green kids like her into professional soldiers. Her grin quickly faded though as the figure on the bed started to whimper and thrash, obviously within the grip of another nightmare.

The first time she had been present during one of Thrace's more violent dreams, she'd made the mistake of trying to shake the pilot awake. The bruise on Mathias' left cheek was a tender reminder that that fell under the heading of a '_bad idea'_. She didn't blame Starbuck. It was her own fault and she'd even known better than to touch a soldier without warning when they were sleeping. Erin had let herself be lulled into forgetting that rule by how fragile the tormented woman had looked in the sickbay bed.

Fragile maybe, but her right hook still packed a wallop. A fact that Mathias already knew from the many sparring sessions the two of them had engaged in over the years. She and Thrace were pretty fairly matched in the ring. As a result, they'd faced each other's gloved fists on multiple occasions.

Bare knuckles made a big difference, though, she thought, gently probing her sore cheek.

Another moan drew her to the bedside, but she was careful to stay just out of reach as she spoke soothingly to the agitated woman. Sometimes that was enough. Not this time, though.

Deepening her voice while still keeping it low, "Captain Thrace, eyes forward," she snapped out and was rewarded when the green eyes popped open and Kara looked around in confusion. When her gaze met Erin's, coherence settled into them, along with a deep pain that was quickly shuttered away.

"Mathias," Kara said in acknowledgement.

"Sir. Can I get you anything?"

"Outta here?"

Erin gave a regretful headshake in answer. The two of them had had the identical exchange four separate times now since her being assigned this post two days ago. And like each of the previous occasions, Thrace rolled onto her side away from Mathias and resumed her silence. Those few words were the only ones Erin had heard the other woman utter in her entire time watching over her. And she'd even been in the room during each of the visits by those approved by Doc Cottle.

She had listened to Captain Agathon prattle on and on, then had watched Major Adama awkwardly apologize, and had even witnessed the Admiral practically beg Kara for forgiveness. Seeing the Old Man humble himself had been decidedly uncomfortable, and she'd had to remind herself that it wasn't her place to judge her charge's decision to remain impassive in the face of the Admiral's pleas. And once he'd left, she'd seen Kara curl in on herself as if having just been beaten. Erin acknowledged that there were a lot of factors at work here that she wasn't privy to, and her job was to make sure that her charge didn't come to any physical harm, self-inflicted or otherwise. There just wasn't much she could about the emotional damage Thrace seemed to be experiencing.

With a silent sigh, Erin Mathias returned to her hard seat and resumed her vigil.

[ I I I I I ]

Fourteen hours later Corporal Alex Paulson stood before his Admiral and his Sergeant trying to explain why his charge was laying in sickbay heavily sedated while a nurse was in a another bed recovering from a concussion, and _he_ was both bloody and battered.

His shift had begun like the previous two days and he hadn't given it much thought when the night nurse, Patty, had come in several hours later. She was pretty in a curvy way and they'd shared a few flirty moments the night before. It was a pretty poor excuse, but the two of them were distracted by their mutual attraction and neither remembered Cottle's standing orders not to touch Captain Thrace without first waking her.

Alex only realized that there was a problem when Patty squeaked and tried to jerk her arm free from the hand that was clamped about her wrist. The young woman panicked and tried to jump back, only to slip and tumble hard to the floor, inadvertently pulling her patient with her.

The Corporal related that his charge, woken by the insertion of a needle into her arm, had reacted by locking her hand about the nurse's arm and jerking upright in bed. When Patty's weight had pulled her off balance and onto the floor with her, Starbuck had apparently reacted on pure instinct, releasing the downed woman and leaping at Alex as he moved to help the fallen women.

It had taken two orderlies, and all the Corporal could do, to subdue Starbuck until Ishay could sedate her.

As he faced his superiors, Alex was careful to let them know that Captain Thrace never actually struck the nurse, Patty's injury was a direct result of her fall. His own wounds were a different matter entirely, but he was fully willing to take responsibility for them and said as much.

The Admiral fell silent after asking a few clarifying questions, and he almost wished the man would lay into him as he knew he deserved. When he glanced at his Sergeant Mathias, he knew she was only waiting until she had him alone before flaying his hide with the tongue lashing of the century.

"Sirs, I know I screwed up royally. You have my absolute guarantee that it won't happen again," he said, hoping that they'd give him a chance to redeem himself.

After Admiral Adama dismissed both Marines, Paulson accompanied Mathias and prepared to take his licks, just thankful that the Admiral had seen fit to keep him on Captain Thrace's detail.

An hour later, face red from more than just the marks left by Starbuck's fists, Corporal Paulson reported to sickbay to get patched up and finish his shift.


	53. Chapter 53 Relocation

Chapter 53 Relocation

When Kara next woke, the unfamiliar bed and ceiling had her tensing as she sought to place where she was.

Trying to scope out her surroundings without alerting anyone that might be observing her, Kara took nearly a minute to recognize that she was in the cell that had been specially built to hold Sharon. The realization had her leaping to her feet, only to waver unsteadily for a moment as the dizziness hit her. When her vision cleared, she grimly surveyed the room again. No mistake. It was definitely the Cylon holding cell on Galactica.

Unless the frakkin' Toasters had gotten hold of her again somehow and done this mockup? Her head jerked upright as her breath hitched at the possibility. Then she noticed that the cell door was open and recognized the guard as Sergeant Mathias where she stood just beyond it. So, she _was_ on the Galactica and the unlocked cell door was supposed to mean something. Just as the Marine guard did. Apparently she was free to leave, but not unattended.

Why had she woken here instead of sickbay? For the first time since coming to in Life Stations some days ago, Kara cautiously consulted her memories of the past week. Those before sickbay were a confused hash. Putting her palms to her temples, she tried to make sense of the fragmented scenes. What did she remember? The image of she and Colonel Tigh sitting at the Triad table with the Admiral glowering at them surged forward. She flinched, and then vehemently pushed past the memory.

She ran her fingers through her ragged hair. Ok… She _had_ cut it off with her knife. But from that point everything seemed to take on a surreal quality; people staring at her in the corridor, her leaning against the hard surface of crates, the darkness, thirst and a distant pain—welcomed as a counterpoint to the emotional torment. Then followed a time of silence that had descended on her, replacing the hurtful voices that had driven her into hiding.

Until Kacey had called to her.

Kara abruptly wrapped her arms about herself, a low moan escaping as she recalled the little girl's beguiling smile as she'd patted Kara's cheek in sickbay. The desolation she'd felt as the child's mother took her away for a second time tore another moan from Kara. Why? Why couldn't they have just left her in the grey peace? Helo and the Doc had been there to witness the torment of losing her daughter all over again. She knew Cottle was a hard-ass, but never before had thought of him as purposefully cruel.

And Helo…

His betrayal was like soured milk on her tongue. The urge to spit was nearly overpowering. And the really frakked up thing about it—_her friend_ hadn't even understood what he'd just done to her. Over the past few days Kara had tried to sink again into the silent sanctuary that had cocooned her before, but had been unable to find her way back along _that_ path. A growing anger had filled the vacuum instead.

They had come. First the Admiral, mouthing words she knew were lies. Later, Lee had reluctantly presented himself at her bedside, too. His stiff shoulders and flexing hands making it clear only too well how much he wished he were anyplace else. Well, she hadn't asked him to come. Either of them. But if there was one thing the Adama men knew, it was their duty, she rationalized. And they'd obviously felt that she was an obligation they had to honor, regardless of how much they despised her personally.

Not that she should really blamed them.

Laying in the bed with her back to each visitor, she had ignored their overtures, confident that they'd be relieved to have fulfilled their official duty without actually having to deal with her. Their speeches meant nothing to her. Kara had learned long ago that the apologies and declarations that always came after the beatings and scathing words were just pretty curtains strung across the windows of a condemned house, meant only to deflect notice from the underlying truth. She'd learned that people showed what they really felt through their actions, not their words.

Lee on the flight deck jabbing a finger in her face with disgust in his eyes, _that_ was truth.

That…and the Old Man shoving her from the chair.

He'd never laid hands on her before in anger. Not even when she'd confessed to killing Zak. His disgust for her had finally broken even _his_ restraint. Course, she'd had it coming for a long time. Deserved it just like her mom always said. Well, there were no takebacks and both Adamas could pretend all they wanted, but she knew they'd finally seen her for what she was.

As motion caught her eye, Kara looked up and saw the man she'd once thought had proved her mother wrong, pause at the entrance to her cell. Had her self-loathing called to him, summoning the Admiral to confirm what she'd already accepted?

She turned to face away as he stepped through the open door. When he crossed to stand just behind her, Kara felt the weight of his proximity and fought the urge flee from the cell. Refusing to look at him was her only defense against the pain his presence wrought.

[ I I I I I ]

As Bill Adama stared at the stiff back of the young woman before him, he wondered how things could have come to this. How was he to break through the wall of anguish that palpably surrounded the lone figure?

Stepping forward, he lightly touched Kara's shoulder, and then quickly withdrew his hand when she flinched under his palm. He briefly worried that she might be in pain. But no, her self-inflicted wounds were almost healed after a week in sickbay. He now feared, though, that the psychological ones would never heal.

Trying to reach her in another way, he gently prompted, "What do ya hear, Starbuck?" As the silence stretched out between them, he thought she was going to hold to her silence.

Then he caught the low murmur, "Dust… Nothing's left but dust."

More than anything else that had happened, those desolate words brought him to the realization that Starbuck—his Kara—was truly broken.

Closing his eyes against the pain, he tried to be thankful that she'd at least answered him. It was more than she'd done during his previous three visits in sickbay. He remembered trying to find the words to expression how sorry he was for what had happened in the rec room, to explain that he'd only been trying to snap her out of the unacceptable behavior and hadn't really meant what he'd said.

With her rolled away from him on the hospital bed, he hadn't been able to see her face, but her rejection had been all too apparent. The second visit he had gone so far as to order her to give him her eyes, a technique that had always worked in the past. The only indication that she'd even had heard him was the shudder that the blanket couldn't fully hide. Her refusal hurt, and confirmed just how badly he'd damaged their relationship—as if her reactions and words in the hanger bay hadn't been enough already.

Now, looking around the cell he'd ordered built for their enemy, he questioned his agreement to move her here from sickbay. Cottle had reluctantly suggested it when they'd discussed Kara's violent reaction earlier. She was healthy enough not to be confined to sickbay any longer, but both men knew she couldn't be left to her own devices. Since bunk space was limited, and Life Stations was neither secure, nor private enough for Kara's current needs, they had to consider other options. Putting her up in the brig had been one, yet Bill hadn't thought it a good idea because she might assume that she was being punished, and that was the last thing he wanted.

At the time the Cylon cell had seemed a good compromise.

Standing behind her now, looking about the space that had been made more comfortable for Sharon by the additions of a sofa, coffee and end tables, and a lamp, he was concerned that they may have miscalculated again.

"Kara, this is just temporary," he said, wishing she'd turn to look at him; he needed to see her face, get some sense of what was going on inside her head.

"Right... Just until you find some ship's captain willing to take a frak-up like me onboard," she said, hunching her shoulders forward slightly.

Adama scrubbed at his face; fatigue, guilt and worry causing his jaw to ache from being clenched so long. His heart suddenly ached, too. She still believed that he meant to force her off Galactica. Despite his earlier apologies and explanations, and even though he had practically pleaded for her to forgive him; Kara _still_ thought he was going to send her away.

He didn't know what to say, how to fix things between them. But he had to try. And keep trying until she got it through that hard skull of hers.

"Kara, you belong here, on the Galactica. You're not going anywhere but back in the cockpit when you're ready again." He saw her shoulders straighten and he felt a stirring of hope and continued. "I'm sorry for what I said before. I didn't know…" He trailed off, unsure how to broach the subject of New Caprica. He knew Kara...knew that she wasn't going to willing talk about what happened to her, and in her current mood, most definitely not to _him_.

"But now you do," her bitterness was tinged with resignation now as she added, "I understand, Sir. I'll go quietly."

Adama blinked in confusion. She seemed to be only listening to half of what he was saying. "You're staying here, on Galactica, with me," he said a bit more forcefully. Maybe raising his voice would help his words penetrate her wall of disbelief. "I won't lose you again, not like this."

She turned to him, spinning around so abruptly he had to restrain the urge to take a step back as anger, and a deep hurt, fought for dominance in her expression.

"_Stop lying to me!" _she shouted. Then her voice dropped again as he saw her visibly struggled for control. "You want me gone. You don't have to pretend anymore. I get it." She paused briefly, swallowing, and then added, "You're just like _them._"

Them? Who did she mean? She was all over the place and he felt like he had whiplash from watching her go back and forth between emotions and subjects.

"Who's them, Kara?"

"My parents," she bit out. _"Like a daughter to you?_ You even said it. Well, you're right there. You're. Just. Like. Them," she punctuated each word with a jabbed finger in his direction. "Don't know how I could be so stupid. I actually thought you were different. But you're no—" her voice broke as she pivoted away, arms tightly wrapping across her chest.

She was comparing him to her parents? The ones that beat and abandoned her? Bill felt like he had been slugged in the gut, the sensation so strong he was finding it hard to breathe and bile rose in the back of his throat. Attempting to shake the feeling, he took the four strides that separated them and reached out, intent on pulling her into a hug…anything to prove to her how wrong she was.

As his hands descended on her shoulders, Kara twisted to face him and at the same time rapidly backed away with both hands defensively raised.

"_Don't touch me! Don't you frakkin' touch me!"_ she said, voice breaking between fear and anger as she came to a stop pressed to the hard glass.

"Kara," he pleaded, shocked at her reaction. Things were quickly getting beyond his control. He watched, alarmed, as she slid down the cell wall and pulled her knees inward, closing in on herself again like she had when they'd found her in the hanger bay.

He partially turned to Sergeant Mathias, who had moved unnoticed into the cell's doorway. "Get Cottle down here, RFN," he commanded, his voice graveled with pain and grief. The guard gave an acknowledging nod and spun away to place the call.

Facing Kara again, he saw that she had her hands protectively clasped over her head and was shivering violently. Bill wanted nothing more at that moment than to go to her, comfort her, yet he realized that he hadn't the right. He'd broken a trust he'd never known was so fragile to begin with.

Was this his fate then? To cause each of his children to implode? First Zak, and now Kara? Even Lee had seemed on the verge several times, most recently evident by the excessive weight he had just shed.

As Bill stood in the Cylon cell, waiting and watching helplessly, he felt an unaccustomed wetness on his cheek.

Words spoken could never be unspoken.

No matter how hard he tried.


	54. Chapter 54 Reinforcements

Chapter 54 Reinforcements

As President Roslin invited Admiral Adama to have a seat, she studied his worn features. Her first observation was that he was obviously exhausted. His bloodshot eyes gave testimony to little sleep, and the haunted look in their depths hinted at deep pain and worry. Not that she had any doubt what caused his current state. From her source on Galactica, she had just heard about Kara's breakdown.

Which made her to wonder what had brought him to her today? He had called requesting a private meeting to discuss an urgent matter and of course she had immediately agreed. They were now alone together in her workroom on Colonial One and, as he took a seat, he seemed nervous as he handed her a folder.

"What's this," she asked, glancing down at the binder marked Confidential.

"Dr. Cottle's medical report on Captain Thrace."

She considered the Admiral's closed features for a moment more before opening the folder. Once she'd confirmed that it was exactly what he'd said, she closed the cover and held it back out to him.

"This is confidential information. A patient's privacy is a 'need to know' basis. I'm not her commanding officer, so I don't have a need to know," she stated in answer to the question in his eyes.

"But you do," he contradicted. As she raised an eyebrow, he continued, "I need your help. _We _need your help," he said, correcting himself. "Kara's life depends on our ability to help her come to grips with what happened to her on New Caprica," he explained. "Cottle's pieced together some possible theories of her experiences in the detention center. None of them pleasant."

Laura listened intently, but still didn't see how _she _fit into Kara's recovery. But she clearly heard the restrained anguish in Bill's voice and found herself wanting to comfort him.

"I _have _heard from others of the hell that place was… In fact, I even experienced the Cylon's hospitality myself on a couple of occasions," she paused briefly, wondering if she should mention that she had actually seen Kara while in the detention center. She decided against it, at least until she had a better grasp of what he expected from her. So instead, she just said, "Bill, I still don't see what this has to do with me?"

"The doctor believes that Starbu…Kara's incarceration may have included some pretty twisted mind games and…" he faltered, taking a deep breath before continuing, "and maybe torture of a…a sexual nature," he forced out. Laura's eyes widened in sudden understanding. He continued, "She has no close female friends, no one suitable to discuss…what happened to her," he explained with a strained grimace.

"You want _me_ to be that someone?" Laura asked, surprise coloring her voice. He nodded in answer. She looked again at the folder in her hand. "I'm not a trained professional. And from what I've heard, Kara needs the best help she can get."

"There's no one else, Laura. And you at least have a history with her. I believe she trusts you…and the fact that your the President gives you an authority that she respects," he added, explaining his reasoning.

"I don't know," she paused, feeling the weight of the folder—and of his request. "There really is _no one __else_?" she demanded, uneasy to step so far out of her depth.

He slowly shook his head.

Not able to think while looking into his pleading eyes, Laura stood to pace the small room. The fleet _owed_ Captain Thrace…_she _owed her. As Laura hugged the folder to her chest, she had to admit that she felt a certain amount of guilt where Kara was concerned. She knew she'd inadvertently done Leoben's biding when she'd thought she'd been helping Kara before. Could she trust that she'd not cause more harm than help this time either?

She rubbed her brow, mentally chiding herself for not inquiring after Kara immediately upon their escape. It had been with relief that she'd heard that the young woman was listed among the survivors, but then Laura had found herself overwhelmed with all the demands of taking back the reins of the Presidency from Zarek and hadn't followed up on her intentions to see Kara.

Considering Bill's request, Laura thought about Kara's visits to the teaching tent on New Caprica, recognizing the loneliness that had driven the younger woman to seek her out. The majority of those Kara been closest to had still been in space, so she'd turned to Laura, trusted the ex-President enough to go to her for company. And that _hadn't _been the first time Kara had shown a willingness to drop her barriers with Laura, she realized, remembering the impulsive hug they'd shared while celebrating the success of Kara's plan to destroy the Cylon-held Tylium Plant.

Yes, she owed the young woman a debt. But there was more to it than that. Laura _wanted _to help her, and maybe Bill was right. Maybe there was enough trust between them that Kara would even let her.

Laura stopped her pacing and turned to the anxiously waiting man whose happiness had come to mean so much to her.

"Ok, I'll try," she promised, knowing that the price of failure would be devastating. But, then again, as the President, she knew, far better than most others, what the consequences of any misjudgment on her part entailed.

She refused to be a coward and not try.


	55. Chapter 55 Family

Chapter 55 Family

As Kara silently walked ahead of Sergeant Mathias through Galactica's corridors, she was aware of the whispered conversations that followed in their wake. A few people made gestures of greeting as she passed, but she resolutely kept her gaze forward, refusing to meet their eyes.

It was the first time she'd been out into the battlestar's general population since her retreat into her crated sanctuary, and Kara felt the heat of her reddening face as shame thrummed though her tensed body. But as Starbuck, she refused to lower her head despite the nearly overpowering urge to hide from the inquisitive faces turned her way. She instead concentrated on the sounds of her steps as they struck the metal plating beneath her feet, reminding her it had been a long time since she'd jogged these hallways. She'd once found solace running through the mighty ship's looping passageways, feeling the endorphins kick in as sweat stained the back of her tank top.

But that was before New Caprica; before Kara was afraid that if she ever started running, she'd never be able to stop.

As she halted before the Admiral's hatch, she pulled her thoughts back to the here and now, and waited for permission to enter. The Admiral asked Mathias to wait outside as he ushered Kara in.

Feeling his blue eyes assessing her, she came to attention and kept her own focused on the wall beyond, refusing to meet his gaze. Her breakdown yesterday shamed her, but she didn't regret any of her words to him prior to it.

Waving towards the faux-leather couch, the Admiral said, "Have a seat Kara. Do you want some water or…" he offered, obviously trying to set a relaxed tone.

She just gave a negative shake of her head as she reluctantly crossed to sit where directed. Her eyes narrowed as he set aside his own glass and took a chair opposite her, leaning back and crossing his legs. Again she avoided his searching look and kept her spine ramrod straight and lips taut.

"Doc Cottle says he's ready to kick you loose from sickbay again. Hopefully for good now. Which leaves me with a problem." She twitched at his words, a hint of bitterness twisting one corner of her mouth. They both knew that she had always been his 'problem' pilot. At least _before _she'd been a pilot, now she was nothing more than a 'problem' to be dealt with. She saw him grimace before continuing, "We don't feel a cell's where you belong, and yet returning you to crew quarters at this time's not an option either. I've decided that the best solution for now is to have you where an experienced officer can provide supervision—make you eat your vegetables as it were," he said, apparently still trying to lighten the tension between them.

She warily worked her way through what he meant, before speaking for the first time since entering his chambers.

"Exactly who did you have in mind, Sir?"

"Me," the Admiral blandly answered, and her eyes widened in surprise. "In most circumstances, it'd be considered inappropriate. But I don't give a flying frak," he gruffly stated. "You're family and you need someone to look after you. So, you'll stay here when off duty," he finished.

Kara shifted uncomfortably as her eyes darted about the Admiral's quarters. Here? With him? But…but he was _the Admiral_, her commander. The idea seemed so absurd that it boggled her mind. What would people think…

"You'll sleep on the couch. Not as comfortable as your own rack, though I can attest that it's comfortable enough," he assured her, a small smile playing across his lips, as she glanced down at the couch beneath her, then back at him, with a look of dumbfounded bewilderment.

He couldn't be serious?

Kara swallowed, trying to get her voice and mind working. She had to say something! "I-I can't, Sir," she protested, finally getting air past the constriction in her throat as she finally met his discerning eyes.

"You can, and you will, Captain," the Admiral's voice held no amusement now as he moved to stand before her. "As your Admiral, I have to send you and Lee out to fight, each time knowing that I may never see you again. It's our job, what we do… And I can accept that." Now his voice turned harsh, "But I refuse to lose you to yourself. If I have to prove myself to you, prove what you really mean to me, then I will, understand me young lady?"

Kara's confusion deepened. He wanted her to stay with him? Expected her to accept that he still viewed her as family? Her eyes dropped beneath his intent gaze. She felt a finger under chin gently lifting her to face him. "I can't lose you like this," his voice had softened to a tormented whisper as he forced her to meet his eyes again. "Give me a chance to fix this," he roughly pleaded.

Her eyes stung and she abruptly stood and put some distance between them, arms clasping about herself. She searched his face, searching for the lie.

Might he still really care?

She hadn't wanted to hurt him, didn't think she'd meant anything to him anymore.

He came to stand before her, and she tensed. "You're family, Kara. Families fight. Just look at Lee and I." Then, offering her a smile, "I need to take care of you…and you need to let me."

Fear urged her to run now, back to sickbay…or the Cylon cell…or wherever. Her wounded heart was torn by conflicting needs. She so wanted to believe in him, to take the comfort he was offering, and yet she didn't trust him. He'd turned on her once, what would he do when he finally learned about Leob…about everything?

As the Admiral's blue eyes anxiously held hers, Kara slowly nodded cautious assent.

She never could resist a pair of blue eyes.


	56. Chapter 56 Reservations

Chapter 56 Reservations

"You _what_!" Lee choked out, sure he'd heard his father wrong when he said Kara was moving into the Admiral's quarters with him.

"Kara's bunking on my couch until further notice," the older Adama repeated for his stunned son's sake. "She'll stand a short shift on maintenance each day and take lunch in the mess, but will be confined to my quarters in the afternoons. Join us for dinner sometime," his dad suggested, looking amused at his son's flummoxed expression.

"Dad…Sir. Have you thought about what people will say when they hear about this?" Lee asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

"I don't give a damned what anyone thinks. We almost lost her, and I _won't_ take the chance again," the Admiral bit out, anger replacing the amusement of the moment before. Lee saw his father take a visible grip on himself before continuing in a calmer tone, "Besides, everyone that matters will understand."

Lee considered it for a minute more. It still sounded…_unmilitary_. But Kara was family. Most of the crew of Galactica knew the that the Old Man viewed Starbuck more as a daughter than a subordinate. Now that Lee gave it some thought, he suspected that the malicious talk and innuendos he feared were not very likely. Both the Admiral and Starbuck enjoyed too much respect for that type of thing to get started.

"I want to run some ideas by you," his father said, pulling Lee's attention again. "I've asked the President—Laura—to meet with Kara. We need to get her to _talk," _he said soberly, his forehead creasing with renewed worry. "and I think Kara might be willing to open up to Laura." Lee thought his dad sounded like he was trying to convince himself of it, too.

"I don't know, Dad," he said, then wondered if his resistance to the idea was because a small part of him wanted to be the one to 'fix' Kara. He felt the need to do something, anything, to help her. Running both hands through his hair, Lee forced himself to face what the Cylons might have done to her during her time in their hands…in Leoben's hands. His father had confided in him that there was a good chance that the Cylon male may have…done things to Kara. Did he _really _want to be the one to hear those details, could he remain dispassionate enough regardless of what he learned?

"But I do know," his dad said, breaking into Lee's thoughts. "We're too close. As a teacher, Laura at least has some background. What do we know? Sure we know Starbuck, but what about Kara? Neither of us knew what type of childhood she'd survived.And as much as we might deny it. The Kara that left New Caprica isn't the same person we once knew.

"It's just…" Lee signed his frustration. "I feel so damned helpless…useless."

"I do need your help with her. You know she's going to be climbing my walls unless she can work off some of that famous Starbuck steam," the Admiral said with a faint smile. "I've asked Laura to come over after dinner, when she can spare the time. I'd like you to be available in the evenings to take Kara to the gym for a couple of hours. I've the feeling she's going to need something to hit after meeting with Laura."

Lee understood what his father wanted. Someone _in the know_ to supervise Starbuck when she was mostly likely to turn violent. He wanted Lee to act as a buffer and friend when Kara was at her most vulnerable.

The only thing…

He was already spending so much time away from his wife that Dee was starting to lose patience. How could he be there for both of the women in his life? Clenching his jaw, Lee decided that Dee would just have to understand. Kara _needed _him right now. He'd left her behind on that planet to have gods-know what done to her. He'd be bedamned himself if he would leave her again when she needed his help. He _owed_ her this.

"I'll be available, just have the President page me when they're done," Lee said, meeting his father's solemn gaze, wondering if his dad had known the position he was placing Lee in with his wife.

Probably…

Definitely.

With a nod of understanding, the Admiral held out several training manuals to his CAG. "I've been thinking. What Kara needs is something to focus on while she's still grounded. And those," pointing at the books, "may be just the answer." Lee listened as his dad laid out his plans for bringing their lost pilot home again.


	57. Chapter 57 A New Morning

Chapter 57 A New Morning

When reveille had sounded, Kara had awoken disorientated and drawn after a night tossing on the Admiral's couch. It wasn't that the impromptu bed was uncomfortable, she'd just been afraid to fall asleep. The nightmares were sure to come, they always did, and the last thing she wanted was to wake the Admiral.

So, she had lain quietly throughout the night, pinching her nose whenever she felt herself drifting off. She'd been thankful the Old Man had decided to have Corporal Paulson maintain his watch outside the hatch so he hadn't seen her get up several times to pace—tiptoe really—about the small cabin. Despite her best efforts, though, she must have dozed off shortly before morning. As the wake up call came through the speakers, she jerked upright, blinking about her in confusion and alarm.

Quickly dressing in the private bathroom, Kara was sitting on the couch by the time the Admiral had emerged from his sleeping cubicle. Now she stared dubiously at the tray of food and mugs the teenaged steward set upon the work table. As she watched the Admiral thank the youngster, Kara shifted uneasily, wondering what the fellow would be saying about her to his mates. Not that Starbuck had ever let shipboard gossip, and the tongue-waggers that spread it, bother her in the past.

But, frak…this was _the Admiral!_

[ I I I I I ]

Adama obliquely scrutinized Kara, frowning as he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Insight swiftly came to him. She had probably forced herself to stay awake all night. He knew about the nightmares, had discussed them with the doctor and the best way to handle them if—_when—_they occurred under his care. Now he knew they'd failed to factor in one variable. That Kara might not trust him enough to allow herself to sleep, and dream, in his presence. He'd have to discuss it with Cottle later. In the meantime, they had breakfast to get through.

"Eat," Admiral Adama ordered with a hand flick towards the waiting meal. "Cally will be here in half an hour. Consider her your official escort in the mornings." As Starbuck's eyebrows rose questioningly, he continued, "You'll do a half-shift with Chief Tyrol, Viper maintenance. Then lunch in the mess with the Chief and Cally before returning to these quarters," he said, laying out her schedule.

"The Chief and Cally…" she swallowed twice before continuing, "Do they know?"

"They know you're on supervised probation. And, yes…they know about what happened in the bay," he stated neutrally, watching her eyes shift away. "It was the Chief that found you. And I'm tired of secrets. You have a right to privacy, Captain. But it ends when it threatens the stability of my ship and her crew," his tone uncompromising. And Kara didn't miss his message; her secrets were going to be brought into the open soon, whether she liked it or not.

Adama gave a slight nod as he confirmed she'd received his warning, then continued, "I'll be back after lunch. Some ideas I've been meaning to implement. Now's as good a time as any. I want you to put together contingency plans. See what your 'out of the box' viewpoint can come up with. In addition, I'm tasking you with revising our combat flight training curriculum," he finished, noting the way her eyes lightened as her interested was piqued. He'd hoped she would see the value in what he was proposing, but hadn't been sure that Starbuck wouldn't just brush his ideas aside as 'busy work' he was assigning to keep her out of trouble.

She wandered over to the tray and picked up several selections before retreating to one of the chairs to nibble distracted at them. The Admiral could practically see her agile mind coming awake, twisting and tweaking things only she saw. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, he knew he'd been right to challenge her to redesign the fleet's approach to Cylon warfare. He fervently hoped that it boded well for the rest of his 'plans' where Kara was concerned.

[ I I I I I ]

Starbuck walked beside the chattering Specialist with Sergeant Mathias trailing discretely along behind them. Cally had arrived promptly to 'escort' her to the flight deck after breakfast. As they made their way below, Kara relaxed in the younger woman's company as Cally showed no evidence of discomfort at being with the 'psycho pilot' as she had dubbed herself. The slight woman had also avoided asking questions that Kara had no intention of answering. Instead Cally rattled on about a subject dear to Starbuck's own heart, the condition and inner workings of the Mark II Viper.

By the time they had reached the hanger bay, Kara felt calm enough to ignore the looks cast her way as she presented herself to the Chief for her assignment. It helped that she had known Galen Tyrol almost as long as she had the Admiral. They'd always had a comfortable relationship in the past; he would rake her over for returning his bird in less than pristine condition, and she'd make some smart remark about keeping his lazy butt busy. Underneath, they'd both clearly understood that their lives relied on the other's skill and dedication.

Now that professional respect came to her aid. The Chief gave her a brief, impersonal smile and a list of maintenance jobs that needed an experience hand. He then returned to his own tasks and went about his day like usual.

For Starbuck, getting her hands back on her beloved Vipers was a soothing balm. The morning passed so quickly, that she was surprised when she found the Chief standing beside her, taking the tuning tool from her hands with a grin.

"I'm hungry. Let's knock off and see what the chef managed to do with today's rations," he said, setting aside the instrument and giving a wave for Cally to join them.

With the Sergeant tagging along, they entered the mess and the noisy conversations fell silent as the room's occupants saw her. Kara's face tightened, and she had to force herself not to glare at the curious faces turned her way. Instead, she gave the room a general nod of greeting, randomly chose a few dishes and, carrying her tray, followed Cally to a table. Keeping her gaze fixed on her meal, she pushed the items around the plate, appetite suddenly gone.

Kara caught the worried look Cally exchanged with her husband and his own subtle headshake in response.

"It'll get easier," the Chief said in a low voice.

Turning haunted eyes to him, she gave him a glimpse of her pain before quickly averting her head again. "Can't get worse," was her mumbled reply.

She felt the Chief lean forward and, again pitching his voice so only she could hear, say, "It could be _much _worse. We could've lost you." With that, he picked up his fork and shoveled food into his mouth, ignoring the startled look Kara gave him. She stared at him for a full minute, then, after a brief glance at the unnaturally silent Cally on her other side, she raised her own fork and forced herself to take a bite. Another followed and Cally, smile breaking forth, began to rattle on about the latest antics of their baby.

After they'd finished, Cally returned her to the Admiral's hatch, leaving Kara standing beside Sergeant Mathias. When the Marine followed her inside, she guessed that the Admiral still didn't trust her on her own.

After the tension in the mess on top of a busy morning and sleepless night, Kara felt herself sagging. She looked briefly around the Admiral's home and decided to ignore her guard as she had in sickbay and stretch out on the couch for a while. Maybe she could get a few hours sleep in before the Admiral returned, she thought muzzily as her eyelids drooped shut.

[ I I I I I ]

_Hands moving across her body. They'd start out as gentle caresses then she look down and saw decaying flesh sloughing off as razor-sharp fingers were exposed. As the hands raked her back, her whimpers became screams._

The sound of a hatch being opened propelled Kara from the couch before she'd even opened her eyes. Two figures were hurrying towards her and she reacted, launching herself with a cry of defiance directly at the one in front.

As she plowed into the lead figure, surprising the form with the speed of her attack, her target stumbled back, trying to fend her off. Starbuck yelled again as arms were clamped around her from behind, lifting her from her feet. Throwing her head back at her second attacker, she felt the impact and heard a man's grunt of pain.

"Kara, stop!"the Admiral demanded, then, as she continued to struggle, _"I gave you an __order__, Captain!" _His command voice reached through the haze that filled her mind. She abruptly stop thrashing within his arms, though her shuddering breaths still labored against his iron grip.

"Stay back," the Admiral ordered when the Sergeant started towards them. "Kara, can you hear me? Kara, please…" he pleaded. She bent her head and relaxed within his grip. "I'm going to release you now." He eased his grasp, and she collapsed to her knees, pulling him partially down with her as she tried to curl into herself.

[ I I I I I ]

Glancing up at the guard, "Get Doc Cottle, and do it quietly," Adama ordered. Mathias' reluctance to leave was obvious, but then she turned and hurried from the room.

The Admiral slowly released his hold, sliding his arms free from the hunched form. As he did, Kara began rocking back and forth over her knees. Wanting her to know he was there, he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, only to have her duck away and scramble across to the corner. She drew her knees up and sat with head buried into them, hands clamped protectively over her head. Just like before. Bill suddenly wondered if this was how Kara had reacted as a child when she'd expected a beating. His stomach turned that she reacted this way to him. She had to know he wouldn't strike her!

But not all blows are physical, a small voice within taunted as the scene in the rec room played out again in his memory. His shove had been as good as a punch for he'd done it in anger. And each of his words might as well have been delivered with a fist for the damage they'd done.

He turned away from the huddled shape and the grinding guilt.

Grabbing tissues from his desk, he attempted to stanch the bloody flow from his nose. Then, taking a few deep breaths, turned and cautiously approached Kara again. He couldn't rewind time, just had to find the way forward from here to repair what had been broken.

Squatting a short distance from her, "Starbuck…_Kara_?" he prodded, using his voice alone to try to reach her. Blonde head still partly hidden by her arms, Kara acknowledged his presence with a shake of her head, but refused to look up.

He rose as the hatch swung open, admitting the white-haired physician and his escort. The Sergeant, looking relieved to find both of her charges relatively unharmed, took up position inside the closed door as the doctor she'd brought grimly surveyed the scene

Adama saw Cottle draw forth a syringe and move with slow, deliberate motions to kneel beside his patient. "Captain Thrace, I'm going to give you something to take the edge off," the elderly physician said, and with quick efficiency born of years of practice, injected the syringe's contents into the locked muscles of Starbuck's bicep. Bill saw that she hardly twitched at the needle's bite.

Both men could see the drug take effect as Kara's clamped form slowly relaxed, shoulders drooping as her hands fell from their protective position. She still kept her face pressed against her knees, but Cottle seemed satisfied as he stood to face his Admiral.

"What happened this time, Bill," the doctor asked, concern making his hushed voice harsh in the quiet cabin.

"I think we woke her from a nightmare," he answered, remembering the shock of suddenly hearing her screams as he opened the hatch to his quarters. "She was lying on the couch screaming when I entered. She came at us so fast… I'm not sure she was even awake at first," he said, recalling the glazed eyes and feral expression. "She laid into the Sergeant, but I was able to grab her from behind…which is when she gave me this," he explained, gingerly touching his sore face.

Inspecting the Admiral's nose, Cottle said, "Yup, it's broke alright. Might even improve your looks if your lucky."

"Right. We could use some of that luck," Bill muttered, his gaze irresistibly drawn back to the quiet form in the corner.

"We've been incredibly lucky, you know." Cottle nodded at Adama's disbelieving stare. "Thrace's survival has been lucky every step of the way," the doctor assured him. "She survived an abusive childhood, a Cylon invasion, four months in that hellhole and a breakdown. Any of which could—probably should—have been fatal," he listed off. Then, "She's a survivor, Bill. I know this looks bad, but it's not unexpected." Adama's eyebrows rose at that, and he frowned as the Doc continued, "I warned you about nightmares. This is _not _the setback you think it is."

"What am I suppose to do now?" he growled, not reassured by the doctor's assertion.

"Help me figure out what set her off this time," Cottle answered soberly. "You said she was sleeping. At this time of day?"

"I don't think she slept last night. Not judging by how she looked this morning. Since I confined her to quarters in the afternoon, she probably decided to get some rack time before I returned," the Admiral surmised.

Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, Cottle lit it before speaking. "Hmm. Kept herself awake last night, huh? Probably afraid of something just like this," the doctor stated, giving a vague wave to indicate their current situation. "Should've know Starbuck wouldn't want you knowing about her nightmares. Well, can't have her refusing to sleep. I suspect that's one thing that precipitated her initial breakdown. I'll prescribe some pills to see her through the next few days or so. I'll send up a cold pack for that nose of yours as well."

"So…now what?" he asked again, inclining his head towards the corner.

"Let's see if we can get her on her feet, or at least upright. Don't like seeing her that way. Things are wrong with the world when Starbuck's docile," Cottle said gruffly, stubbing out his cigarette before giving Bill a nudge to approach Kara.

Kara slowly raised exhausted eyes to meet her Admiral's as he asked, "Can you stand?" She blinked vaguely at his question. Trying a different tact, "_On your feet, soldier,_" he ordered, using his best command voice again. His relief returned as Starbuck pushed herself unsteadily up, and assumed the attention stance, training providing the necessary impetus.

As Cottle stepped forward, Bill observed with approval that Kara tracked his movement.

"You, young lady, are under doctor's orders to rest. I'm going to give you some pills to help you sleep. You _will _take them, Captain," the physician stated in his brook-no-argument voice. Turning to the Admiral, "Get her to rest this afternoon. With the shot I gave her, she should have several hours of undisturbed sleep," he said, then exited the cabin.


	58. Chapter 58 Psych 101

Chapter 58 Psych 101

Kara splashed water on her face, trying to clear the last of the drug-induced fog from her mind. After almost five hours of uninterrupted sleep, she admitted she felt better. Scrubbing her face dry with the rough towel, she paused, arrested by the face reflecting back at her. The haunted eyes above gaunt cheeks framed by ragged blonde hair belonged to a person Kara didn't recognize anymore. Draping the towel over the revealing mirror, she turned away and left the sanctuary of the small lavatory, knowing she'd have to face the Admiral sometime, if not the damaged woman she had just covered.

Dinner had been brought to the cabin and laid out on the Admiral's table. He stood waiting and waved her to the second place setting. Without a word, Kara took her seat and surveyed the meal, knowing she'd have to choke some of it down to pacify the Old Man.

[ I I I I I ]

Observing Kara push the food in circles about her plate with head bent avoiding his regard, Adama sighed and wiped his lips with the napkin. He'd stayed in the cabin the rest of the afternoon doing paperwork, watching over his girl. It had eased his own tired heart seeing her features relax into peaceful sleep at last. But since waking, she hadn't said anything, keeping her eyes downcast.

Well, he'd had enough of that. Breaking the silence, "I told you I've some ideas for updating the combat training course. Starting tomorrow afternoon, you'll begin working on that project," he said. Then indicating books on his nearby desk, "There's all the standard manuals and texts. Review them, but don't feel restricted by them. Remember, I want _your _unique view on how we can do better." He had her eyes now. "You're the best Viper pilot I've ever seen. I'm betting you can find better ways of teaching the nuggets how to clear Cylons from my sky." He gave her an encouraging smile. An answering one pulled tentatively at her lips before sliding away.

"I'll do my best, sir," she said in a low voice, breaking her silence at last. Turning back to her food, Kara began slowly eating. The remainder of the meal passed, if not in companionable silence, at least not with the strained absence of sound that had marked the start of their dinner together.

After the young steward had cleared their plates and left, Adama cleared his throat, drawing Kara from the inner contemplations she'd fallen into while eating. "Laura Roslin will be coming by tonight," he started, not sure how to broach the subject. At her questioning look, he continued, "I've asked her to debrief you on your time spent in the detention center on New Caprica."

He watched as Kara suddenly straightened in her chair as it dawned on her exactly what he meant; her need to flee was evident in the way her panicked eyes darted around the room.

"I told you the time for secrets is over. You _will _speak with someone about those four months. Since you won't talk to me, I've enlisted Laura to do the job instead," the Admiral said with the finality of a foregone conclusion.

"But-but…she's the _President._"

"Yes, she is. She's also a teacher…and, more importantly, considers herself your friend," the Admiral said, giving no quarter.

"I can't…I mean…she's too busy, _she's_ _the_ _President, for frak's sake_," she said, her voicing rising. Abruptly, Kara sprang to her feet and retreated from the table to pace across the enclosed space.

Adama's eyes narrowed as he surveyed his officer's agitated movements. Last thing he wanted was to push her into another panic attack, which she certainly seemed to be working up to.

Changing tactics, "It's just a debrief, Captain. You've done them countless times," he said, trying to get her to focus on the military necessity of any information she could provide. Appealing to the trained soldier in her had worked before, he was hoping it would again.

"She's not _military_, Sir. Wouldn't know the first frakkin' questions to ask," came her sharp reply. But she did stop her pacing, he noted.

"Then who would you suggest," he tossed back to her. Adama could see her searching for someone, anyone. "What about Helo?" he tentatively, only to see her face harden and he wondered briefly what his acting-XO had done to alienate her. Focusing back on Kara, "Would you talk with Lee? Do you really want to go into details with him?" He saw her flinch and back further away in response. "I'd listen if you'd talk to me," he softly offered. She shook her head, wrapping her arms about herself, closing off again.

"Well, Laura it is then," he firmly stated. "You need to get rid of the poison that's been festering in you. The Doc says the only way to do _that _is to talk. So you're going to talk to someone. That's an order, Captain."

"_Yes, __Sir__,"_ she spit out her acceptance of the command, then he saw her bite her lower lip as it quivered.

Moments later, a knock on the hatch preceded the guard's announcement of the President's arrival. "Enter," he called out. Rising, he saw Starbuck turn her back, shoulders tensed in sullen protest.

Adama walked over to the redheaded woman as she stepped through the entrance, "Laura," he greeted, taking her hand in a light clasp of welcome. He let his eyes speak their thanks to her for coming. "Bill, it's good to see you," she returned his smile, then her gaze flicked to the distant figure beyond him.

"I've duties in CIC. I'll be back in a few hours," the Admiral excused himself and he and Sergeant Mathias left the pair alone.

[ I I I I I ]

Through narrowed eyes, Laura scrutinized the young woman she was expected to help. The medical chart Dr. Cottle had provided had painted a disturbing picture of the abuse Kara had endured, both during her childhood, and later at the hands of the Cylons. However, the bare medical facts couldn't show her the psychic wounds that were currently crippling the younger woman.

"Kara, can we sit?" Laura suggested. Not waiting for a reply, she moved over to sink onto one side of the earth-brown couch. After a moment, Kara shrugged her shoulders and took a seat further down the sofa's length. With arms crossed about her chest, the blonde's body shouted sullen defiance as she slouched back.

"We both know why I'm here." Then, leaning slightly forward, "You're a danger to yourself and others," Laura matter-of-factly stated, not missing the way the blonde head twitched aside. "Kara, you need help… We all need help sometimes, you know." Her voice coaxing now, "We can talk…just talk, like friends do." Starbuck shook her head, but Laura persisted, "I consider us friends… On New Caprica, I'd thought we'd become—"

Kara interrupted, "It was different then, everything was different before…" then trailed off.

"Before the Occupation. Before the Cylons took you?" Laura prompted, trying to keep her talking.

"You don't know what they did. _What __I__ did—"_ Kara objected, then clamped her mouth shut with a look that said that Laura wasn't going to get anymore out of her and could just do an about face and leave.

Not to be that easily put off, Laura said, "You're right I don't, Kara. You need to tell me. Where did they take you when you were captured?" she asked, wanting to start simple, anything to just get her talking. Laura waited patiently, letting the silence stretch between them as she kept her full attention focused on Kara. She'd learned a long time ago that silence could be just as an effective goad as words.

Kara shifted on the couch, eyes repeatedly dodging away before returning each time to Laura's intent gaze.

Huffing a frustrated sigh, Kara broke the silence first. "The detention center, of course," Starbuck's tone and glare made it apparent that she might have conceded the first round to Roslin, but that didn't mean she was suddenly feeling cooperative.

"Who was it?" At Kara's confused look, "What model took you?" Laura clarified.

"You already frakkin' know."

"Tell me, anyways," the older woman softly urged. She saw Kara sighed again and a grudging acceptance settled over her expressive face.

"It was Le-Leoben. Ok. Happy now?"

"What did he do to you?"

Green eyes flickered to Laura's before dropping again.

"Nothing," the almost whispered response.

"Kara, what did Leoben do?" she asked again, firming her voice with a school teacher's insistence.

"I told you. Nothing!" Kara shouted, then quickly lowered her voice again as she added, "He didn't do anything. Just kept me locked up in this damned apartment, prattled on about streams and such, and…" she broke off, fidgeting with her fingers now.

"And what?"

Kara abruptly stood, taking an aggressive step towards Laura and said, "And he died. Over and over. I killed him. Do you get it?" She was leaning in close now and Laura tensed. "I killed him again and again." The younger woman swung away and rubbed at her arms. Laura just barely heard the softly spoken, "And it didn't make a frakkin' difference. He always came back."

"And how did that make you feel?"

Swinging back to face her, Starbuck's smirk was back in prominent display as she sarcastically said, "Now you really _do_ sound like a shrink. How did it make me feel? All warm and gooey, both inside and out."

Laura took some time to consider Kara's words. She was sure they held a double meaning. Then she saw it. Killing the Cylon had undoubtedly been a messy endeavor. What had it been like for Kara to repeatedly murder Leoben; to feel and see his blood on her hands. And know all the time that it was futile, that he'd just return each time?

"I image as a pilot you haven't done much…close quarters fighting, I believe it's called?"

"Haven't you _read_ my jacket?" Starbuck mocked. "I probably hold a record for 'disorderly' conduct, in case you didn't know."

"_You_ know I'm not talking about bar brawls, Kara. How many times have you killed by your own hands?"

The smirk faltered. "Fine…I've only killed Cylons, satisfied," her response terse now.

Laura nodded once. "Killing Leoben, probably with whatever was at hand, was different. Wasn't it?" Laura knew she was pushing, she could see the younger woman's fists opening and closing at her side, and the tension in Laura's stomach tightened just a little more. She could feel she was making progress, she'd just have to trust that Kara wouldn't actually attack _her_.

"I…I stabbed him. Straggled him with a cord. Used a vase once. Metal chopsticks work well. Shard of a plate—" Kara's cataloging of methods abruptly broke off and Laura watched the color drain from her face as Kara stumbled back, her hands going to her head.

Rising, Laura took a step forward as the younger woman sank down onto the couch, head slowly shaking back and forth as if denying whatever she was recalling. "Kara, what is it? Tell me."

"…with a plate…in the throat," the words came out disjointed. Green eyes locked with hers and Laura was surprised how dilated they were. "He fell. And I kicked him... No," Kara shook her head, confusion reflected in her eyes now, "I didn't kick him. I stomped…I-I," she abruptly rose and rushed past Laura to the small bathroom beyond.

Laura followed a few hesitant steps and halted when she heard the unmistakable sounds of vomiting. She considered whether to go assist the young woman, but decided to give her some space. Instead, she reflected on what she'd learned. Kara's reaction made a kind of sense yet it's intensity was perplexing. Ugh! What she wouldn't give for a degree in psychology right about now.

She decided to check with Dr. Cottle later to see if he had anything at all on handling stress reactions to traumatic events. This was a warship, for gods-sake, the military had to have known combat related mental issues were bound to come up. Resuming her seat, Laura sat back to wait for Kara's return.

[ I I I I I ]

Kara spit into the toilet again before reaching out with a shaky hand to flush. What must the President think of her now? Not that her reputation wasn't already in shambles before this, but… With a sigh, she pushed herself up and rinsed her mouth out, grimacing at the mirror and then quickly put the towel over it again.

Her head ached. Rubbing at her temples, she wondered if the pain was from the drugs earlier or reliving her attack on Leoben, seeing again the remains of his corpse after she'd gone all berserk on it. Gods, what if she did that to someone on Galactica? Hadn't she already shown how crazy she was? Definitely couldn't share this little episode with anyone or the Admiral would have her back in a cell in an instant, regardless of his professed claims that he cared for her.

And there was something else… Some other darker memory that twisted just beyond the one in the apartment. Kara instinctively shied away from trying to follow _that_ wisp of thought.

Gathering herself together as best she could, she turned to the door and went out to face the President again. The older woman seemed to be waiting patiently, not looking disturbed at all by Kara's abrupt exit. She wished she had Laura's ability to stay calm in any situation.

She dropped down onto the couch and stared across at Roslin, deciding not to volunteer anything. Never, _ever_ volunteer, her momma had told her many times. Just got you stuck with the scut work no one else wanted.

Roslin seemed to be studying her with those knowing brown eyes. Well, let her. Kara was an artist at bluffing. She crossed her arms and slouched back further against the sofa cushion. Her eyes were drawn to the other woman's tapered finger that she was absently tapping on the arm of the sofa. It was distracting, so much so that Kara actually missed her softly spoken question the first time.

"I asked if Leoben was the one that gave you the scars on your hands?" Roslin repeated when she must have realized that Kara hadn't been paying attention.

Kara glanced down at her hands with a frown before answering. "No. That came later. A Six and Simon."

"So, you didn't spend the entire four months in the apartment with Leoben?"

She shook her head and remained silent.

"Then when did you leave the apartment? And why?"

"I guess about six or so weeks into the Occupation. D'Anna and Six, and you know it of course had to be the same bitch I off—" Kara faltered, blushing just the slightest. "Sorry, Madam President. I meant the same _Cylon_ I killed on Caprica."

Roslin gave a reassuring smile. "I've heard, even said, far worse. And I think it should be Laura and Kara during our talks, don't you?"

"Talks? As in plural?" At the older woman's nod, Kara shook her head. "What? You think we're just going to pick up where we left off on New Caprica?" Her tone turned mocking now as she continued, "Just chatting. A little girl talk?"

"We're friends, at least I considered us such."

"We were _never_ friends." Kara was perched forward now. "You were convenient. That's all." She chopped down with her hand as if ending it there.

Watching the redhead across from her, Kara saw the woman's lips thin, and felt a sliver of satisfaction. She knew herself, knew she was purposely pushing Laura away. It was too dangerous to let people close, because then she risked them seeing her truths, and it was better to push them away than have them leave later when she had come to rely on them.

For _that_ lesson she had her father to thank.

But, as Laura settled back in her seat, Kara was reminded that this was the woman that had lead them all across so many stars. It was going to take more than a little push to shake her loose.

"Friends, regardless of what you think," Laura insisted. "Now, I believe you were telling me about this Six, that's the model that went by Shelly Godfrey while on Galactica?"

"Yeah, I guess." At Laura's wave to continue, Kara reluctantly did so. "She was just Six on New Caprica. I guess the other Cylons weren't satisfied with Leoben's progress with me. Decided to turn me over to her for proper _rehabilitation treatments_," she said, sarcastically emphasizing the euphemism.

"And these treatments, what did they entail?"

"What you'd expect. A few beatings. Less than stellar accommodations. Spa treatments." She gave a shrug. "The usual."

"And by spa treatments you mean…" Laura prompted.

"Cold water washes. Battery therapy. All the specials included, same low price."

"Battery therapy," Laura asked, obviously missing the reference.

"Yeah, battery therapy, you know…shock therapy…electrical stimulation of the nerves," Starbuck explained, curling her lip that the other woman hadn't caught her meaning.

"Oh…," Laura said, looking slightly ill as she probably pictured Kara being subjected to volts of electricity. Kara saw the older woman pulled her attention back to her questions, "So, was that all the Six did?"

"She really wasn't too imaginative—not like the others—I think she just wanted to cause as much pain as possible. Said it herself once, didn't really care if I told them about Galactica's defenses or not." Kara brushed her bangs aside as she paused, then met Laura's eyes as she continued, "so, mostly just beatings. Not fun. Nothing I couldn't handle," Starbuck said nonchalantly. "I think that disappointed her. After awhile of playing piñata with me, she got bored. So, that's when she tried the battery therapy, but I think the others must have forced it to stop, didn't want to risk killing me too soon," she clarified.

Laura was silent for awhile, staring off in thought and tapping her finger again. Kara wished she'd stop. As the silence dragged out, she was beginning to hope that their chat was at an end and was just about to rise when the brown eyes locked on hers again.

"Kara, in what way were the others more imaginative than the Six?" Laura asked. "What did they do?"

What did they do? How was she suppose to explain to this woman that the beatings were nothing, but chain her to a corpse and force-feed her and she wanted to die? Kara's chin began to twitch and she swallowed convulsively, eyes wavering towards the bathroom again.

_Frak that. And frak Laura Roslin._

She wasn't doing this anymore.

"We're done." Starbuck burst from her seat and strode to the hatch. "You can tell the Admiral whatever you want, but we're done here. Got it." She swung the metal door open and gave Roslin a cold glare.

"Ok, Kara," Laura said as she rose to cross the cabin and stopped in front of her. "We'll pick this up tomorrow."

"No we won't, so just forget it," Starbuck's hot defiance was back in full force.

Roslin gave her a warm smile as if she hadn't even heard Kara's rude comment. "Sleep well, Kara, and I'll see you after dinner tomorrow."

As the President stepped past where Sergeant Mathias stood guard, Kara saw the women exchange nods before the Marine came through the hatch, closing it behind her and taking up her preferred spot off to one side.

Starbuck glared at her silent guard, knowing she'd heard the exchange of words…and was there just a touch of amusement in the woman's expression?

"What?" Kara demanded.

"Nothing, Sir," came the oh-so-carefully neutral response.

"Right." Kara turned away, still fuming inside at…at…she didn't know what exactly. Just agitated and knowing that it wouldn't do to goad the Sergeant into a fight, at least not in the Admiral's quarters.

Even _she_ wasn't that crazy.

A short time later the sound of the hatch opening had her looking up from the flight manual she had absently picked up and was unsuccessfully trying to study. As Lee stepped inside, a small, instinctive smile crossed Kara's face at the sight of him, it was quickly quenched though as she their vast history of hurting each other descended on her again.

_Just what I _don't _need tonight _

She watched the CAG cross towards her before pausing a few feet away to give her an expectant look.

"Well, come on," Lee said, tone carefully neutral, "We haven't all night."

Blinking in confusion, Kara cautiously asked, "Come on where?" She'd had enough surprises today, and was damnedif she was going anyplace with Lee without knowing where first.

"To the gym. You've been lounging around too long, Captain. Doc Cottle has ordered a prescription of light bag work and weights tonight. And I've learned not to piss off the Doc," Lee answered with just a hint of a smile nudging the corners of his mouth.

Looking away from him and around the quiet cabin and the stoically watching Marine, Starbuck decided she'd prefer going to the gym over staying in this room any longer waiting for the Old Man to return.

"Fine. Whatever. Lead the way, Major," she said, and then silently followed him out the hatch.

As they traversed the corridors towards the smaller gym, Kara felt Lee's eyes slide her way. She shifted a little further away, widening the gap between them and knew by the slight hitch in his stride beside her that he had noticed. Still, he didn't say anything, hadn't said anything since his earlier non-committal greeting.

Rubbing the side of her face, Kara tried to ease her aching jaw muscles. She hadn't realized how much she'd been clenching her teeth lately, a habit from childhood when silence had been expected of her. The freedom to speaking her mind and damning the consequences in the years since had meant her jaw usually hurt for an entirely different reason, and often included a colorful bruise as an exclamation mark. It struck Kara as ironic that her jaw ached from trying to keep locked in all the words Laura want her to spill forth.

As they crossed the threshold into the workout room, she saw that it was empty. While it was later in the evening, even this gym usually had a few occupants, and Kara felt her jaw tensing again as she ground down on the realization that Lee must have arranged for them to have the facility to themselves. Part of her was thankful; it was hard enough eating lunch in the mess today knowing that she was garnering hooded looks and whispers. But she hated that he was trying to protect her like some godsdamned shrinking violet that would wilt under the stares.

Unless he was just ashamed to be seen with her…

An hour later, Kara wiped an arm across her forehead, wishing she'd thought to snag a towel from the Admiral's quarters. The sweat stinging her eyes just added to her building agitation. She knew the Old Man had probably intended for her time in the gym to allow her to work off some of the stress after her meeting with Roslin, but it wasn't shaping up that way, and now she felt more strung out then when she had arrived. And it wasn't hard to guess why as she caught Lee casting yet _another_ cryptic glance her way.

They had started out ok with him leading them through some light warm-ups before progressing to free weights. Lee hadn't said much, but Kara had caught him repeatedly about to make some comment, only to snap his mouth shut and avert his eyes.

How much did he know? Obviously too damned much, she decided, if the stilted way he was treating her was any indication. His hard anger seemed well buried, but she was sure it was still there. She wondered if the Old Man had assigned him to this chore. Probably. She couldn't believe that Lee was here out of any reason other than duty. Except maybe curiosity…or pity. That thought was enough to renew her punches at the heavy bag he was holding.

As he cleared his throat, _So, here it comes,_ she bitterly thought.

"What did you and President Roslin talk about?"

_Right. So curiosity first, huh, Lee? _

She ignored him to slam an uppercut into the bag. At her silence, she saw him shift slightly so he could better see her.

"Kara, we need to talk…about that night…and-and afterwards."

"Don't wanna talk." Driving her fist into the bag, "Wanna hit."

"Look, I just—"

"Not listening," Starbuck said, putting her gloved hands over her ears. "This is me not listening."

Lee reached across and slapped down her near hand as he said, "Very mature, Kara. I'm just trying—"

She spun from him and started working at the laces on the mitts as she walked away.

"Kara. Kara! Come on… Come back."

Finally getting the knots loose with her teeth, Starbuck continued to ignore him and tossed the gloves aside and went to work peeling off the strapping around her hands. She heard him follow her.

"Fine. You don't want to talk, we won't talk. Nothing new there."

With a curse, she swung back to him. "Everyone wants me to _talk_, share my feelings, confess my sins," she said harshly. "Well, news flash, Lee, I'm not so good at sharing. And I _hate_ it. Hate that I'm expected to talk…or whatever… I just want to forget. But, oh no, we have to get Starbuck to open up, show everyone just how cracked her pot really is. Oh yeah, and she should be grateful that _so many_ people want to help a frak-up like her."

"It's not like that."

"What?" She raised her hands, feigning surprise, "You don't want to hear all my dirty little secrets? What the Cylons did to me? What I did? Come on, Lee, admit it. The only reason you're here is to get the juicy details. See if I finally got what I had coming to me."

"No. That's not… _Godsdamnit, Kara!_" Lee ran both hands through his hair, looking like he was barely resisting the urge to start pulling out hunks in his frustration. Straightening, he took a single step towards her. "Ok… I was hurt. You hurt me. And I was frakking angry at you for it. But Kara, I swear, I never wanted you to hurt like this. What happened to—"

She lifted one hand, palm signaling him to stop then closed her fingers as if trying to crush his words.

"Don't… Just don't. I can't…" Her face started to crumple before she twisted away. Her breaths hitching in and out were the only sounds in the otherwise silent gym. Kara tried to gather her tattered control back around herself. Dealing with Lee like this was just too much on top of everything else. She kept her eyes shut.

Behind her, she heard his steps track away as he put distance between them. A part of her longed to beg him to come back, to hold her. She squashed the impulse, knowing he wouldn't…and besides, she didn't deserve to be comforted, especially by him.

"Ok, Kara. We'll do it your way." She heard the heavy resignation in his voice. "Doc says you need to work your legs, especially your weak knee."

She looked over her shoulder when she heard clanks and saw Lee sliding weight rings onto the leg press. After a brief hesitation, she moved to take her seat and silently lowered and raised the bar to his count.

After another half hour of weights and stretching, Lee parted with her at the Admiral's door with a, "See you tomorrow," flatly flung over his shoulder as he strode away.

She stood before the hatch, hand on the handle and watched his departing back. They'd actually made it through the remainder of their time together with no _new_ bruises—at least not physical ones. Practically a record for them.

Sighing, she turned away and gave a nod goodnight to Corporal Paulson where he stood at his post outside of the door and pushed it open, stepping through to see the Admiral look up from his paperwork-strewn desk.

"Good evening, Starbuck," he greeted her, a tired smile crossing his craggy features.

"Sir," Starbuck nodded to him, unsure what to do now. After the long day, she was exhausted and just wanted to crawl into her rack and pull the blanket over her head. She glanced away from the Admiral and saw that her spot on the couch had already been prepared. To Starbuck, it still didn't seem right to be staying in her commanding officer's quarters, but _Kara _was touched in a strange way that a place, _her place, _was already prepared and waiting for her. She had to remind herself not to read too much into the gesture.

"I'm about ready to call it a night," Adama said, drawing the her attention back to him. "The Doc sent some pills to help you sleep. I expect you to take them as prescribed, young lady. Doctor's orders are _not_ discretionary," he added with a wag of his finger.

He handed the bottle over, and Kara shook one out into her palm. As she stared down at the white oval, her reluctance must have been obvious because he quietly added, "Kara, you need rest. Those will help, at least for now."

She popped the pill into her mouth, grimacing at its acrid taste.

"Didn't say you had to take it dry," he said as he handed her a half-filled glass of water. "Here."

Taking the proffered glass, she drained it, washing away the bitter taste. As the Admiral retrieved the empty glass, his eyes seemed to focus on the back of her hand. Glancing down, Kara realized that he was staring at the small scar. She shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he'd spoken with Roslin, and if so, what the woman had told him. Kara risked a glance at his face and met solemn blue eyes that seemed to hold nothing but concern in their depths.

"Goodnight, Kara," he said and shuffled off to his own sleeping cubby.


	59. Chapter 59 Call To Arms

Chapter 59 Call To Arms

The next day started better. Kara awoke feeling refreshed after a full night's sleep. If she had dreamed, it hadn't disturbed her rest—or thankfully—the Admiral's. Breakfast was a repeat of the previous day and she even managed some stilted small talk, asking about the fleet activities for the day. When Cally came to collect her with a cheery greeting, she was eager to go.

Both the morning Viper maintenance and lunch in the mess passed with a little more ease than the day before. Kara still felt eyes shift her way, but this time, their curiosity didn't make her want to deck them all. On her return to quarters, she found the training manuals and current contingency plans waiting for her on the Admiral's workbench. Never one much for reading textbooks, her curiosity was none-the-less stirred, especially since she was being asked to come up with alternatives to things that had always struck her as impractical or obsolete during her courses at Flight School.

When Admiral Adama entered his cabin hours later, she looked up from her position bent over the wooden table. She set aside the star system schematics and charts she'd been sorting as she glanced at the wall clock, surprised at how much time had passed.

"Sir," Starbuck briefly acknowledged as she straightened, craning her neck one way then other as she stretched muscles stiffened from hours spent pouring over the strewn papers and books.

Loosening his jacket flap, Adama said, "What do you hear, Starbuck?" As the well worn phrase slipped from his lips, she saw he immediately regretted his choice of greeting. Torn between giving an honest answer or one that she thought he wanted to hear, Kara looked away.

Stepping forward into the awkward silence, Adama moved to her side at the table and picked up several pages of scribbled notes. "Looks like you've got some ideas already," he said, sounding casual as he squinted at her scrawled writing.

"Yeah… Well, you know," she said as she neatened a stack of books, "just keeping busy."

"This is important," the Admiral said, waving the ink-covered sheets. "The Cylons always have the numbers on us. So, we have to be sharper…crafter than the bastards. I want to give the nuggets every advantage I can, and you," handing her the notes, "have a way of coming up with the craziest, brilliant ideas," he added.

Kara averted her head and quietly muttered, "Crazy is right," as she rubbed at the healing scars on her thigh. They were just getting to the itchy stage.

"Stop it," Adama admonished her. "We _need _you," he gruffly added, "And don't denigrate yourself in front of me, I won't have it. Understand, Captain Thrace?" he said, handing the sheets back to her.

"You don't know—" she started, hand unconsciously crumpling the slips of paper, but broke off as the Admiral held out his hand, silently insisting that she give him back the bunched notes. Carefully spreading the papers on the desk, he smoothed them out with his roughened hands, before stacking them before him.

"You have value. Value to the fleet," he declared, tapping the stack of notes, "and to _me_. Now you need to learn to value yourself, Kara."

Before she could respond, a knock sounded at the hatch and Mathias announced that their food had arrived, putting at least a temporary end to their discussion.

Halfway through dinner, the alert klaxon blared across the comm system, declaring Condition One and calling all hands to battle stations. The Admiral rose and, with a wave for Starbuck to follow, was through the hatch in seconds. The battlestar commander moved with brisk, confident strides towards CIC with Kara close on his heels as they passed hurrying crew members rushing to their own duty posts.

Kara saw Admiral Adama take a moment on entering CIC to run an evaluating eye over the assembled personnel, probably noting who was at what station and taking in the general feel coming off his people as they braced to face the enemy once again. Stepping up to the status display in tandem with him, Starbuck let her gaze scan the DRADIS contacts and locus, noting that the alert fighters had already been dispatched by the XO. The CAP was out of position for a least time intercept, the Viper pilots would only reach their targets a brief time before their reinforcements arrived.

"Tell Kat and Hotdog to group with the alert team and coordinate," the Admiral's brisk command cut through the under chatter of reports around the room. He turned to his navigational officer, "Mr. Gaeta, update and confirm all Fleet vessels are to prepare for emergency FTL," he ordered.

"Sir, Colonial One reports that they'll need at least six minutes to spool up their FTL. At the Admiral's questioning glare, Gaeta added, "They had a transgasket being replaced and were nearly finished when the alert went out, Sir."

Starbuck surveyed the incoming twenty-five Raiders and two Heavy Raiders, and made calculations of her own on probably losses and times of intercept. That many raiders had to be an advance force, she decided. Odds were, the fleet would have a Basestar come a knocking any time now. Kara grimaced. Six minutes was a frakkin' eternity when Raiders and nuclear missiles were bearing down on you.

Studying the fleet icons, a thought tickled along her nerves. She followed its path, working out logistics as she tuned out the hum about her. Feeling a presence at her elbow, she looked up and met the Admiral intent gaze.

"You have an idea, Captain?" he prompted her

Turning away from the images of the approaching warships, Starbuck hesitantly met his inquiring look. "What if we tuck Colonial One behind the Astral Queen—she's the nearest—and also big enough to draw the Cylons' fire first," Starbuck rubbed at an eyebrow as her thoughts raced ahead. "Task Kat and Hotdog to cover her flank. We jump the fleet, several ships at a time _as_ they're targeted, and not before. Make the Toasters spread their fire." Now pointing at the advancing Viper vanguard, "Have Apollo go with Delta Silver, that'll screw with their DRADIS readings, keep them going in circles."

Adama considered her proposal only a moment before calling to the comm to hail Colonial One and the Astral Queen with new orders. As he snapped out instructions for the Viper squadron and the other fleet ships, he spared a small nod to her in approval.

As they stood observing the moving icons and listening to the pilots' battle chatter, Kara could tell the plan was working. Groups of Cylons were swarming towards several ships, launching their weapons, only to see their quarry jump before the missiles arrived.

"DRADIS contact, Sir!" Gaeta called out. "Confirmed. One Cylon Basestar inbound. Time to range…three minutes, Admiral."

"What's Colonial One's status?" asked the Admiral.

"Her captain says they've shave their time. Two more minutes and they'll be ready to jump, Sir," came the prompt answer.

Starbuck saw the Admiral rub his jaw and squint at the spider web of icons before them. Two-thirds of the fleet had already jumped out. And she could see that so far they'd been lucky; the Astral Queen and its shadow hadn't drawn any fire, but as the other vessels disappeared, Kara knew that was about to change. As if triggered by her thoughts, a group of five raiders swept in towards the position of the paired ships.

"Bring us into support range," the Admiral ordered, "I want Galactica's guns on those Raiders, XO!" Then to communications, "Tell the Astral Queen to wait for my mark then jump, and Colonial One to break down hard—towards us—when the Queen goes. Make sure Kat and Hotdog know they have the bogeys inbound and that the Queen's about to jump." As Starbuck watched the advancing force, she did her own mental counted down, then heard Adama's barked, _"Mark!_ Get the Queen away. Apollo execute Beta One on all Vipers, _NOW!"_

The larger icon of the once-prison ship vanished from the screen, even as the smaller one broke towards the protection of the Galactica. The two Mark II Vipers suddenly streaked straight at the oncoming Cylon wave and towards the missiles that had been targeted at the larger vessel that had just jumped clear. Most of the missiles lost lock and wandered off harmlessly, but three swung towards the heat signature of the fiercely fleeing Colonial One and re-achieved lock. As Kat and Hotdog fought to bring their fire on the small, fast targets, one of the three exploded. The last two were detonated by Galactica's defensive cannon fire as the battlestar came into range.

"Yes!" Helo gave a shout of triumph, punching his fist in the air at the Cylon icons.

"Sir, Colonial One reports FTL's up… And she's away," came the relieved announcement from Dee. "All fleet ships have jumped, Sir," she confirmed.

"Get all birds on deck, we jump as soon as they're down. See to it XO," Adama said, eyes focused on the Viper icons as they turned to streak home. Starbuck did the same, taking tally, afraid that certain names would come up missing.

"Permission to go to the flight deck, Admiral?" she requested, eager to get below again.

"No, Starbuck. Return to quarters," the Admiral replied, then as she started to protest, "That's an order, Captain."

Bitterness flashed across Kara's face as she snapped to attention, "Yes, Sir," she said, her voice and salute shouting her hurt anger at his curt dismissal. Turning on her heels, she strode away, determinedly staring straight ahead and ignoring the questioning glances sent her way.

Striding through the corridor from CIC, Starbuck felt the brief flicker of contraction as the Galactica made its own jump to join the rest of the fleet. Grinding her teeth, she stuck her hands in her pockets, afraid she might strike out if anyone even looked at her sideways.

Coming to the intersection leading to the living quarters, Starbuck stopped and glared down the side corridor that lead to the flight deck instead. Hands flexing in her pockets, she paced back and forth between the branching halls.

_Frak-it! _

She should be down there—with them—not sent to her room like a grounded teenager.

Thrusting her chin forward, she started down the familiar passage, the distant voices of the crew channeling to meet her. After five defiant strides, she slowed her forward progress, and instead began pacing again from side to side across the width of the hall. Pulling her hands from her trouser pockets, Starbuck was tempted to punch the wall in her frustration. Instead, she laced her hands behind her head not trusting herself not to lash out. With her chin still aggressively tilted up and elbows splayed out, she took three more passes between the walls. Then, letting her hands drop to her side, she abruptly turned away from the voices and retraced her way back up the hall.

Without even acknowledging Sergeant Mathias, who had stayed at the Admiral's cabin entrance and looked surprised to see her come back alone, Starbuck stormed inside, ignoring the guard as the woman followed her in and shut the hatch behind them. Kara threw herself in the first chair she came to. After a few seconds though, too angry to remain still, she got up and prowled the suite, careful not to touch anything, pretty sure she'd give in to her teeming anger at the Admiral's unfair dismissal and smash whatever she touched.

Her circuit brought her around until she was within a few feet of the blandly watching Marine. Starbuck's hands twitched at her side and something about the woman abruptly reminded her of Leoben. She froze in place, feeling her heart race as her breathing quickened. As Kara retreated a step, Mathias must have seen something of her building panic for the woman raised a hand and moved towards her.

"_No! Get the frak—"_ Kara stopped. Taking a gulping breath of air and shutting her eyes, she forced herself to stillness. _On Galactica. On Galactica. On Galactica,_ she silently chanted, slowing each repetition and making her breaths match. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Mathias had moved a distance away and she sourly hoped it was to give Kara some space and not that the woman was afraid whatever was wrong with her was catching.

_Yeah, like a case of Leobenistis was contagious._

The idea was ridiculous enough to help her shake loose the last of the panic attack and she turned away from the wary Marine.

Finally ending up in front of the bar, Kara leaned against the counter, scrutinizing the various bottles on display. With her left hand, she reached over and snagged a tumbler as her right latched onto a partially full bottle and slid it near. Sloshing the golden fluid into the glass, Starbuck filled it to the rim before setting the bottle aside.

"Want a shot?" she offered to Mathias. "Promise I won't tell the Admiral." At the other woman's headshake, Kara put the bottle back in its spot. Turning to face her own personal guard dog, "Sorry. Just…you're always watching me. Just like _he_ did. And I guess it freaked me out there for a second," she brusquely explained.

"He? The Cylon on New Caprica?"

Kara was surprised at the question. The Sergeant usually made a point of maintaining her silence unless asked a direct question. She took a sip from the overly-full tumbler before answering, "Yeah, him. The frakker spent the first week yammering on and on about his visions and my place in them. Eventually even he must have grown tired of hearing himself talk, cause he just took to watching me after that." Kara fought down a shudder before pushing on, "I can do silent if I have to. Most people don't know that." She glanced over, expecting to see skepticism, but Mathias just looked mildly interested, so she continued, "My mom taught me how to keep quiet for days at a time. Trick is to pretend you can't talk. After awhile it's like you forget how…or never learned."

Feeling suddenly exposed, Kara took a deep draft and let the burn ease some of the tightness that bound her chest.

"Talking's not a weakness, Kara."

She looked up, startled by Mathias' use of her name. It was the first time she could remember the older woman ever addressing her by anything other than her rank in all the time they've known each other. She gave a brief nod, not necessarily in agreement, but as an acknowledgment of their shared moment.

Kara took her drink and carried it across to her seat to wait for the Admiral's return.

[ I I I I I ]

As Adama stepped through the hatch to his quarters and the guard excused herself, he saw Starbuck slouched in one of his chairs near the bar. She was staring down at the amber liquid in a half empty glass, and didn't bother raising her eyes at his entrance. Her expression was shadowed as she slowly swirled the contents of the tumbler before lifting and tossing back the remaining liquor in one long swallow. It was only then that she turned a challenging stare his way, daring him to comment on her helping herself to his store of alcohol without permission.

Running a tired hand through his graying hair, Adama mentally grimaced. Ok, he knew she'd be upset by his refusal to allow her to go greet the returning pilots. No surprise there, he silently admitted. Now, how to explain to her his reasoning. He didn't believe she was ready to face the emotional buffeting of the other pilots as they came down off the adrenalin high of combat. And he certainly in hell didn't want her involved in a fight.

Giving her a non-committal nod, he crossed and poured himself a large serving of his own preferred poison. Taking a mouthful, he swished it around his gums and teeth, enjoying the burst of flavored heat before finally swallowing. Then he finally swiveled to face his recalcitrant pilot, eyes narrowing as he noted for the first time that she was rubbing at her thigh where he knew a light bandage still covered the multiple cuts she'd made into her skin.

The image of her huddled between crates, fearfully waving him off with the blood-caked knife, flashed in his mind. He tried to keep the pain of that memory from his face, but Kara must have seen some of it for she straightened in her seat, concern flitting across her own features.

"When you hurt yourself," jabbing a finger towards her leg so she knew what he meant, "you hurt me…and all the others that care about you."

Kara glanced down and abruptly stilled her hand. "Sorry," she said, meeting his penetrating stare for a moment before dropping her eyes again beneath his troubled regard.

"Don't be sorry, be different," he said.

"Right… Be different. Don't be such a frak-up, Thrace," she muttered. "Heard it all before, Sir. But it's what I am." She stood and turned away. "_You_, of all people should know that, Admiral."

"Damn it, Kara," he growled. That's not what I meant."

Setting his drink on the table, he marched over and took hold of her hunched shoulders, turning her to face him, distantly noting that she hadn't flinched away from his touch this time. "What I _meant_," he firmly corrected, locking her eyes to his, "is that you need to learn a new way to deal. You're all fight or flight… And I understand," giving her a small shake, "But there are other ways. Ways that don't hurt so much," he tried to explain.

Kara's wide eyes searched his. She was apparently reassured by whatever she read in them, for he could feel her relax slightly in his grasp.

"You're off balance," he started, then seeing the tiniest jerk of her head, clarified, "I said _off-_balance, not unbalanced, Kara. Don't twist my words." At her reluctant nod, he continued, "When most people stumble, they reach out for support. Not you," he said, hoping she'd understand what he was trying to explain, "You strike out, bouncing off those around you. Sure it keeps you upright, yet you never really get your balance. You're ricocheting about, hurting yourself and others." His voice lowered, _"And it stops_ _now_."

"What do you want from me?" she demanded, her words quivering just the slightest. "I already said I'm sorry!"

"I _want _you to let us help you," he answered gently now. "Reach out for a change, Kara," he urged, then impulsively pulled her into a hug. Within his arms, he could feel her automatic stiffening. As he held on, he was rewarded when she slowly relaxed into his embrace, burying her face into his uniformed shoulder.

"I-I don't know how…" He could barely hear her muffled voice, yet he understood what she'd said just the same. Reflecting on what he had learned about her childhood, the Admiral realized that Kara literally meant what she'd said. She'd never learned how to ask for help…how to let others carry some of her burdens. She had learned a long time ago that the only one she could rely on was herself.

"Six wanted me to beg," Kara ventured in a small voice, still with her head pressed against the rough cloth of his jacket.

"The model from New Caprica?" he softly prompted.

"Roslin told you!" accused Kara, starting to pull out of his arms, obviously feeling betrayed that her previous night's discussion had been shared with him.

Adama wasn't having any of it. He tugged Kara back against him. Resting his chin on the head of his surrogate daughter, he sought a way to reassure her that the shared secrets were being held safe. "I told you that I required a debriefing, Captain. For security reasons, I must know anything that you have to tell us about the Cylons," he firmly stated. "Laura only divulged bare details that she judged that I needed to know."

He felt the head beneath his chin nod in acceptance of his explanation. Gently easing her away so he could see her face, he searched her eyes and was somewhat reassured.

"Do an old man a favor, will you? Just talk with Laura tonight. Get whatever those bastards did out into the open. Flush the enemy out and take 'em down, Captain." He waited a beat for her to nod again before releasing his hold.

With that, he snagged a sheaf of documents off his desk and headed out the hatch as Mathias stepped back in.


	60. Chapter 60 Requests & Requirements

Chapter 60 Requests & Requirements

As Laura entered the Admiral's quarters, she saw Kara rise from her chair and give a hesitant nod. The younger woman didn't look nearly so drawn compared to just the night before. Roslin was surprised at the difference and wondered at the cause, rather hoping that she had played a part in Kara's improved appearance, it made her decision to come over tonight, despite the recent Cylon attack, seem the right one.

Laura settled into the comfortable chair near where Kara still stood, but remained silent, choosing to study the hesitant eyes that kept glancing at her before shifting away again.

"Admiral says I need a lot of help," Kara finally said, her gaze again bouncing off Laura's intent one and settling off to the side.

"I'd like to help, if you'd let me." Laura's words brought the emerald gaze back to her own. There was a hint of vulnerability beneath the wary look Kara gave her.

"Momma always said the gods help those that help themselves," Starbuck quipped, shifting so she stood hands on hips and chin jutting slightly forward with a smirk lighting her lips but not reaching her still hesitant eyes.

Taking a moment, Laura considered both the words and the strong resurgence of Starbuck's cocky demeanor before saying, "Is that why you find it difficult to let others help?"

Kara's gaze wavered then met hers. "Others only offer to 'help' when they want something in return." Her regard was challenging now. "So, what's your angle, _Laura?"_

"You don't believe one person would help another just because they care?"

"Nope."

The answer, brief as it was, carried a multitude of meanings to Laura's ears. Within that short word, she heard the years of experience that had taught the younger woman that her trust would be betrayed, that claims of caring always came with strings, that the price for opening herself to others was pain. And yet…she hadn't said _No_. The difference of two added letters conveyed room for doubt, the dare implicit in Kara's tone. _Prove me wrong._

Laura probed for a way to do just that, "Then what motive do I have?"

"Don't know. Maybe you just want to look good for the Old Man."

Kara's use of the crew's nickname for the Admiral gave her a thread to grasp.

"I'll concede there's an element of that. I _care_ about Bill Adama. I want to help him. He asked me and I said yes." She gave her words a moment to make their point before continuing, "But I _care_ for you, too." She scrutinized the younger woman for signs that she was getting through, but her hope sagged as she saw Kara abruptly stiffened and anger flush her cheeks.

"It wasn't a dream, was it? _You were there," _Kara demanded, voice rising with her accusation. Laura immediately grasped that Kara was referring to their time together in the apartment cell; she must have just remembered some of it.

Considering how to explain herself, she saw the younger woman misinterpret her hesitation and turn away. She quickly spoke up, "Yes, I was there. The Cylons had brought me in for questioning about the Resistance. Held me for several days. On the third day they brought me to the apartment. Didn't say why, just locked me in. When I saw you…" she paused, distressed by the memory of the condition she'd found Kara in. She cleared her throat. "I was so relieved that you were still alive—"

"_Right."_ The bitterness and disbelief dripped from Starbuck as she spun around again. "That's why you left me there. Left me with _him_."

"What would you have had me do, Captain?" Laura's guilt-inspired anger made her say sharply, "Take out the Cylons by myself. I was a prisoner, too." She inhaled deeply, then exhaled and felt the anger flow out. "I'm sorry, Kara. I didn't know…didn't know they were using me. I just wanted to help you."

"A lot of good your _help_ did me."

Rubbing tiredly at her eyes, Laura realized that they had come full circle, right back to Kara's belief that she could only rely on herself. She sought some way of shedding a different perspective on what had passed between them. A glimmer of an idea came to her.

"I've always heard that Starbuck doesn't run from a fight. Ever."

There! She saw the green eyes spark and knew she'd found the hold she needed. "You were catatonic when I found you. You'd given up. Given in."

"Frak you," the quick retort, but the words were hollow echoes.

"No, Kara. You were lost. Whatever they'd put you through was too much to handle on your own."

"And you think you did me a favor?" Kara resentfully demanded, her anger flaring again. "How did it help me? I was safe from them—from him—but you brought me back. Congrats on that. Thanks a whole hell of a lot for nothing."

_Lords, her walls are nearly as thick as her head!_

Laura gave a frustrated sigh, then her eyes narrowed. "What bothers you most, that I brought you back…or the fact that you hid in the first place?"

"Frak you," Kara said again, this time spinning away and beginning to pace across the cabin's short length, refusing to look at Laura.

Laura could see the internal conflict in the tense set of Kara's shoulders and the way she held her arms locked at her side. She let her be. The next move was up to Kara. Watching the figure prowl the Admiral's quarters, Laura caught a glimpse of how confining those long months would have been to someone so driven to action. She must have found it suffocating to be trapped and helpless like that.

Pulled back from her musings as Kara halted before the paper-strewn desk, Laura watched her reach out with a shaking hand to lift a pill vial from amidst the mess. Laura stood, suddenly worried as shudders rolled through the lean frame.

"Kara…"

[ I I I I I ]

"Kara…" Laura's voice sounded distant as the Admiral's cabin receded and the grey walls of her New Caprican cell surrounded her again.

_She rose slowly to her feet as the Six entered, one of her pet Centurion dogging her high heels. The Cylon's gaze was calculating and Kara met it with undisguised hatred; it wasn't like the skin-job didn't already know how she felt. _

_So intent was she on trying to psychically bore a hole through her tormentor that she didn't notice that the false woman had something wrapped around her right hand until the long fingers flexed and the coil of brown unwound downward. It took a moment to identify the object, but once she recognized that it was a leather strap, Kara stiffened and couldn't—quite—hide the pained memories from childhood it invoked._

"_Do you like my new toy?" Six ran the three-foot length of hide between thumb and forefinger, and then looked up with a smile that promised that Starbuck would come to hate the 'toy' very shortly. "Brother Cavil suggested it. Said it rarely causes permanent damage yet makes a highly effective training tool. Thought I'd give it a go." _

_The inch wide strap didn't closely resemble the black belt that had been one of her mom's favorite forms of punishment. Yet, as Kara stared at it, the memory of her mother ominously slapping the belt against her leg as she approached the cowering Kara invaded her mind. _

_Yanking her eyes from the length of leather, she schooled her face into a impassive mask as she met the eyes of her tormentor. Kara knew by the pleased smile stretching the Cylon's face that the skin-job hadn't missed her initial reaction. _

"_Take off your shirts," Six ordered._

_Starbuck's green eyes widened briefly in surprise; every since the first day the Toaster had seemed to take pleasure in personally striping Kara's tanks from her. Too caught off kilter to find a suitable comeback, Starbuck concentrated on appearing bored as she painfully lifted the tanks over her head and put them aside with a negligent toss. _

_As the Centurion locked the loathsome cuffs around her wrists, its large form temporarily blocked her from the skin-job's view and Kara closed her eyes, trying to prepare herself for the coming session. Why did it have to be a frakkin' belt? Did the gods really believe she deserved this? That thought brought forth its own roiling pain as the image of Lee looking at her with devastation in his eyes taunted her with her sins. So, maybe she _did_ deserve it. Maybe she had angered the gods with her rejection of their gift of love and the Cylons had been sent to enact penance on her for that cowardice. Her mother had certainly spouted off enough that weakness and fear were to be severely punished. It all fit. This punishment was the result of __her __choices. _

_Kara opened her eyes as the Centurion strung her up on the hook. Her shoulders and arms immediately began to cramp as muscles not yet recovered from the previous sessions were strained yet again as they took on the full weight of her body. When the guard returned to its silent post by the door, Six deigned to approach. _

_Walking slowly about the slightly swaying form, Six laid a hand on Kara's straining chest, probably noticing how the position made it even more difficult for her to breathe. As Starbuck stared fierce spears at her Cylon inquisitor, she ached for a real spike to drive through the pseudo-woman. Six, unperturbed, merely responded with a smile of anticipation, letting Kara see the gloating pleasure that foretold of the pain that she was about to inflict._

_When the Cylon stepped behind her, Kara gritted her teeth, anticipating the impact. At the first strike of the strap across her back, her head reared up, arching in surprise despite thinking herself prepared. By the fifth stroke, the Cylon had found her rhythm, and Starbuck rasped out curses at her tormentor. With the tenth lick of the leather, the Six was beginning to perspire while clamminess coated Kara's swaying body. _

_With the next shocking thwack, she flashed back to the times her mother had used the belt for punishment. She distantly heard the Cylon demanding information between each blow, but the voice was mutating into the more familiar one from her childhood. Each strike now was preceded by her mother's scornful words._

'You're soft, Kara' _—__A layer of fire laid across her shoulders—_

'You're a quitter, and always have been' _—A cross-thatch welting her skin—_

'These grades are pathetic' _—__The lash licking pain between naked shoulderblades—_

'What are you going to do now, cry?' —_The sensitive skin of her lower back raked._

_Even as the pain radiated outward from her back, Kara absorbed it inward, taking it as the discipline she deserved. Failure and weakness must be punished. _

_As each successive slap of the strap was accompanied by remembered taunts and curses that were nearly as painful as the physical lashes, Kara didn't know when she passed from the mingled present/past torment into unconsciousness. Chilled wetness doused her awake again. Blinking water from her lashes, Kara muzzily realized she still hung helpless from her raw wrists. A clatter and motion drew her wavering gaze from the puddling water between her feet to the side where an empty bottle rolled to rest against the cell wall. Then a hand was gripping a handful of her dripping hair and, yanking back, forced her to look up. _

_Kara tried to bring her wavering gaze into focus._

"_What are Galactica's nuclear armament numbers?" she heard Six demand. Giving her head a small shake against the pressure of the hand knotted in her hair, Starbuck let her eyes close again, ignoring the woman and concentrating on breathing through the pain. _

_The hand gripping her gave a twisting shake, snapping Kara's eyes open to meet the tall blonde's glare. _

"_Answer me!"_

"…_frak you," her weak reply, all she could manage to dredge up past the pulsing agony._

"_Wrong answer again, Captain. You really must learn to follow orders. Maybe that's why Admiral Adama abandoned you." The taunt hit its mark and Starbuck jerked her head free of the woman's grasp._

"You lie,"_ she hissed, suddenly livid. _

"_Oh, yes. The Galactica, Pegasus and their brave Adama commanders both jumped away as soon as_ _we arrived." Leaning in closer, Six whispered, "They ran. Abandoned all the Colonists. They left you behind. Probably thankful they had an excuse, don't you think, Starbuck?"_

_Glaring at the mocking gaze, Kara felt the spreading tendrils of doubt. She clamped down on her tongue, and the creeping suspicion. The Admiral _had_ to jump away, a necessary retreat to give him time to regroup for a counter-attack. He wouldn't leave her—them—behind. And Lee wouldn't…_

_She didn't finish that thought, suddenly unsure of the answer. _

_The Six must have seen that she'd hit a nerve, because she suddenly sounded almost cheerful as she said, "Let's start again, shall we?" _

_At some point she must have passed out again, for she woke alone in the silent cell, sprawled on her belly, too weak from shock to even curl in on the pain. _

_Fire licked across Kara's back, charring her thoughts and broiling away what sense of self and hope she had left. _

_It was too much… Too much abuse and agony. The weeks of isolation, followed by beatings, little food, and the ever present mocking voices, both real and remembered, had leeched her spirit to a wraith. The leather strap was the last blow, invoking too many traumas at once, past and present, physical and emotional. The panes Starbuck had held in place to distance herself from the escalating pain weren't nearly enough to protect her from this level of prolonged torment. As each crumbled, she felt an abyss open beneath her as hope dissipated into a sucking despair. _

_Every shallow inhale that stabbed her chest was followed by an exhaled, "…no more," moaned into the darkness of her existence. In the emptiness that her world had narrowed to, Kara finally admitted that her mother had been right. She was too weak. Always had been. She'd been coming to this point her entire life. Through her weakness, she would betray all those that depended on her. The next time she was questioned, she knew she'd tell them anything_—everything—_to end the torment. _

_After a time, the screech of her cell door opening causing Kara to flinch. She didn't bother to open her eyes as footsteps moved closer to where she lay. Tears trailed down her cheeks as Kara felt her failure heralded by the figure standing over her. She waited to be dragged upright, hopelessness forbidding her even a token bit of resistance._

_Eventually she opened her eyes, looking up into a face that reflected her own anguish. Sharon... Boomer... An Eight… Whomever—whatever—she was, held something in her hand. Pills. _

_They were pills._

Kara took a deep gasp and jerked rigid, wide eyes darting about the Admiral's suite as the flashback dissolved around her. Shudders still racked her body, but there was no physical pain now, just the caustic memory of what had been held at bay by one of the obsidian barriers in her mind.

Clenching the vial of sleeping pills Cottle had given her, Kara was buffeted by the pain of the remembered beating and the shame of her desertion afterwards. Through all the years of abuse as a child, she had never just given up before. The taste of ashes coated her tongue and Kara felt herself choking. She pulled her arm back and hurled the pills—and succor they promised—away. She knew now that she didn't deserve it.

[ I I I I I ]

Laura saw the shudders that rocked Kara, and started to hurry to the younger woman only to come to a halt a step away, suddenly recalling how ill-advised it was to touch Starbuck. Torn by an indecision foreign to her nature, she found herself held immobile, unsure on how to handle the volatile woman. Her face tightened as she watched Kara abruptly hunch over and flinch from unseen blows.

She had about decided to send the guard for the doctor when Kara had straightened and seemed to be coming out of the fit. Laura twitched back as Kara cocked her arm and threw the bottle she still held against the nearest wall. It struck the metal with a twang and ricocheted to roll beneath one of the chairs.

"Coward... Weak frakkin' coward," Laura heard her gasp out as Kara stumbled back, putting hands over her ears as her breaths rasped in and out. "Wh…why didn't…kill me," she was muttering now, her words coming is broken burst that Laura could barely make out. "Should've done it…too mu…coward…self."

When the back of her legs bumped into the chair, Kara folded into it, hunching over her knees. Troubled, Laura scrutinized her, trying to piece together some coherent meaning from the fragmented words. _Does she think herself a coward? _Well, wasn't that was Laura had been goading her with just a few minutes ago when she'd said that Kara had given up when she'd gone catatonic?

Moving to her side, Laura cautiously wrapped an awkward arm around the hunched form. When Kara didn't strike out or pull away, she began stroking the blonde hair, murmuring soothing words—just as she had those many weeks ago in a grey prison disguised as a home. After a time, the clenched muscles beneath her arm eased and she released her hold as Kara straightened in the chair.

"I'm a frakked-up mess. Should've just left me there," the words came out clear now, but flat and defeated, stirring Laura's frustration again.

Giving in to the urge, she grasped Kara's shoulders and gave her a firm shake, watching her expression turn from despair to surprise. "Stop it! That's about enough self-pity out of you, Captain."

Kara was on her feet in an instant, slapping the hands away then giving the older woman a shove that sent Laura stumbling back several steps.

"_You don't get it! I am frakkin' pitiful!"_ Kara's outburst continued as she covered the distance between them, "A coward, just like you said. Too weak." Close now, she jabbed a finger into Laura's chest. "I broke. Don't you get it. I was gonna tell them anything they wanted. Do whatever… _I—frakkin'—broke!"_

Laura fought the urge to retreat from the menace of emotion roiling off of Kara, instead, she steeled herself and reached out, gently resting her palms on the quivering arms, bracing for another violent response.

"Anyone would have. Even the infamous Starbuck's not invincible," said Laura and the form beneath her hands stilled. "You're human, not a Cylon. Human's break. Then we pull ourselves back together and go on. _We go on_."

"And what if I can't—if there's not enough left?" Kara bitterly asked.

"Then you let us help you."

Seeing uncertainty and antipathy twist Kara's features, Laura shoved her own impatience aside, silently reminding herself that the young woman was probably feeling both wounded and cornered, and that it was going to take more than a few words to coax her into trusting anyone. Still, it was difficult now that, as President, Laura had grown use to people doing as she directed. But she'd learned the art of manipulation and patience in the political arena, and now she found those skills useful again.

"Just ask," she prompted, voice purposely mild and expression non-judgmental.

"I…I don't…" Kara began, then trailed off.

"You don't…what?" she prompted. "Don't want to ask or don't know how? Or maybe…how to begin?"

Now, as Kara's feelings flashed across her angular features, Laura easily recognized, and understood, the confusion and fear reflected in her expression, but was unsure how to interpret what she could only perceive as…_revulsion?_ Was Kara revolted at the thought of sharing the traumatic experiences or at what those experiences were. Again…maybe both?

The ex-school teacher mentally reviewed what little she new about victims of abuse, and what reading material the doctor had managed to scrounge up for her. A common issue was the belief by the victim that they were responsible for their abuse. That somehow they'd caused or deserved what had happened to them. Knowing the mind games the Cylons seemed especially proficient at playing, Laura could envision several scenarios that could account for Kara's reactions.

Fingering the ring on the chain about her neck, Kara tried again, "I don't…" As she hesitated once again, Laura could tell that she was obviously getting frustrated at her inability to explain. Then she took a breath and quickly said, "Just ask me something, will you." It was likely as close to asking for help as Kara could manage.

"I can do that," Laura agreed, knowing now how she could help. She would try it Starbuck's way. Treat it as a true debrief. "I need a timeline on what they did to you during your captivity, Captain." Waving Kara back into her seat, Laura moved her own chair so she directly faced the Colonial Officer, then settled with hands clasped on her crossed knees. "The reports indicate you were detained for a little over four months," she stated. "You said that during the first six weeks Leoben held you and you weren't subjected to any interrogation?"

"That's correct," Starbuck answered formally.

"But then you were remanded into the Six's custody, and she used various methods of interrogation?" She paused until the blonde head nodded reluctant assent. As she continued, Laura strove to keep her voice steady and neutral for the next part,

"You said the Six wasn't very imaginative. You've told me some of what she did. What haven't you told me?" Laura caught the shift in the younger woman's eyes and posture and knew she'd hit a nerve. "What else did the Six do to you," she asked again, putting a hint of command in her voice now.

She was surprised when Kara stood and slowly turned around while removing her tank tops. Twin pale scars were a lighter white against the flesh-pink skin of Kara's back. Biting her lip, Laura looked at the slowly fading marks and wondered what damage they signified to younger woman. Of course she'd known about them from the doctor's report, but seeing them made Kara's ordeal seem more physically…_present_.

As Starbuck quickly slipped back into her tops and resumed her seat, their eyes met, and Laura saw the embarrassed shame hiding in their depths. Was this what had broken her? No way to know without asking the source.

"What happened?" Laura probed.

Kara was fidgeting now, and Laura watched her shift in her seat for the third time and still not look up again.

"Captain?"

When the words came, Laura almost missed them.

"Not sure."

"About what was done to you. Or what you did?" She slid forward to the edge of her chair, and ducked her head, trying to catch Kara's eyes.

"I-I don't know. I mean… I remember _now_, but it's still a blur," the words were mumbled, with a touch of defiance, but Kara still refused to meet Laura's questioning gaze.

Laura sat back, considering the tense figure before her and what she'd said. Memory impairment about a traumatic experience wasn't unheard of. But what did she do now?

"Ok. I understand." Laura nodded, and then asked matter-of-factly, "Tell me what you can remember…and anything _after_."

Worrying her lip, Kara finally looked up. "Six. It was the Six. She was coming at me…something in her hand, I-I think… _Frak!_ I don't know! And I don't want to!" She was abruptly up again and heading towards the hatch, obviously intending to end their session.

Laura saw the startled look on the woman Marine's face as she turned when Kara yank the door open and move to step across the threshold. Giving the Sergeant a quick headshake, the President communicated to her that Kara wasn't to be allowed to pass. Immediately responding, Mathias planted herself solidly in front of the entrance, one hand held palm outward.

"Get the frak outta my way," Starbuck said, raising her own arm to push by the shorter but solidly built guard.

Mathias was quick. With a swift parry and shove, she had Kara twisted around and stumbling back inside.

As Starbuck spun around, face suffused with rage, _"Kara, stop," _Sergeant Mathias commanded, and Laura was startled to see the volatile pilot halt. Her fists were closed tight and half raised; she seemed ready to launch herself at the female Marine…but she didn't.

From her position, Laura couldn't see the byplay that passed between the two, she just heard the Sergeant say, "It's _not_ a weakness," and watched Starbuck jerk back, then suddenly throw her arms up in the air as she turned from the door and marched over to the nearest chair, sullenly sprawling sideways against its arms, with hers crossed over her chest. The action and Kara's expression were so reminiscent of a child's tantrum that Laura had the inappropriate desire to laugh at the recalcitrant young woman. Firmly suppressing the urge, she gave a nod of thanks to the guard and watched her pull the hatch closed again. Laura resumed her seat and templed her fingertips to silently consider the woman across from her.

"Talk to me," she neutrally ordered.

Kara flicked a glance towards her before returning her sulky gaze forward again. Laura saw her moisten her lips and swallow several times. That's when it struck her that Kara's acting out was due to fear. Laura remembered something the Admiral had said in relation to his hotshot pilot. He'd said that Starbuck turned fear into anger and believed that it kept her alive. It certainly explained the yo-yoing of her reactions.

"Whatever the Cylons did to you is in the past. You're safe here. You know that," Laura said, seeking to reassure her.

"Not that damned simple," Kara muttered, then pushed around so she was sitting up and facing Laura. "I know it's over…but it's not. I see things. Like it's happening again. And it's so frakkin' real." Her hands rubbed damp streaks along her pants' legs as she added, "One minute I'm here, then I'm back there again…_and I hate it!"_

Laura straightened. No one had told her that Kara was having flashbacks. Did they even know? She racked her memory for what she knew about the memory flashes. Not nearly enough, she realized. Fine. She'd just have to speak with Dr Cottle later.

Tapping her finger on her knee, she wondered what to do now. Taking a breath, she said, "What you're having are called flashbacks." As Kara gave her a 'like duh' look, she tilted her head in acknowledgment. "Ok. So you're already familiar with the term. Then you know they're perfectly natural."

"Nothing natural about 'em."

"Noooo... But a reasonable reaction given your experiences on New Caprica."

"Calling me reasonable? Sure you have the right person, Madam President," Starbuck taunted.

Laura saw the evasion, recognized that Kara was trying to derail her questions again.

_Lords, this was more exhausting than arguing with the Quorum—and there are twelve of them!_

"Captain, you were telling me about the Six. What she did to cause those marks on your back. You said she had something in her hand. What was it?" she pressed, hoping that she wasn't about to trigger one of Kara's flashbacks. Abruptly Kara's reaction a few minutes ago—_and yesterday_—became clear. How could she not have understood what she was seeing? Laura closed her eyes briefly, feeling the weight of her ignorance pressing in upon her.

Eyes blinking open again, she took a breath and straightened. Someone had to do the job and, just as Laura had risen to take on the responsibility of the Presidency, so, too, she now brought her focus back across to where Kara was fidgeting with her fingers. She could do this. She would do it.

"Kara?"

The words were murmured too low in response for Laura to hear.

Laura leaned forwards. "What?"

"A belt…it-it was a belt," repeated Kara, still barely a whisper.

"What significance does that have to you?" she asked, and gave a mental nod as the younger woman gave her a bleak look.

"My mom, she use to…" Kara trailed off, twining her fingers together and staring down at them.

"Your mother hurt you with a belt, too?" Laura's stomach twisted as the image of a blonde little girl cowering beneath blows flash across her mind. Of course. It had been too much to hope that Kara's past hadn't gotten tangled up with her time with the Cylons. "So, the Cylon beat you, just like your mother?"

"Yeah… I think so. I mean it's all kind of confused. Got mixed in with my mom."

Considering Kara's bent head and white-knuckled hands, Laura pondered if pushing any more was a good idea. Deciding that she might not get her back to this point, she asked, "Is that what broke you?"

"I guess," Kara said, lifting a hand to rub at her forehead. "It was afterwards. It hurt so much, and everything my mom said was true, and I just wanted it to stop, you know. Then she came. And I asked her and she wouldn't... Should've done it myself."

Now Laura was lost. Who came. The Six? And wouldn't what? Done what? She suddenly felt like she'd missed a whole section of the conversation.

"Who? Who wouldn't what?"

"Boomer." The blonde head ducked lower. "She was a friend once. I use to raz her for spooching her landings." A harsh chuckle rattled though the cabin, then Kara coughed, like her chest was too tight. Catching her breath, she continued, "She came with pills for the pain. I asked her to make it stop…permanently. She wouldn't. I asked her for help and she refused. Lot of good it does to ask." This time the look she gave Laura was accusing.

"Boomer. The sleeper Eight that shot the Admiral?" At Kara's nod, "What did she refuse to do? What should you have done?"

"She had a sidearm. Asked her to finish it. She just gave me the pills and left."

"You wanted her to shoot you?"

"I just wanted it to stop… And I knew...knew I'd spill my guts the next time," Kara said in a voice desolate with shame and she knotted her hands back together.

Laura heard the deep pain and guilt. She'd been pretty sure she'd understood what Kara was getting at, but facing the bald truth that the Cylons had brought her to that place brought home the depths of what she'd been through.

Leaning across, Laura rested her hand atop Kara's clenched ones. "We all have a point when it's too much. Courage is finding a way to get back up again. You chose not to die. Now, choose again." She gave the cold fingers beneath hers a squeeze. "Let us give you the support you need. Just until you find your balance again."

"But I didn't. I gave up."

"Did you kill yourself? Did you tell them any of Galactica's secrets?"

"No, but…I was going to."

"And even if you had, hadn't the Admiral already taken measures knowing that the Cylons would have access to Colonial Officers? Changed codes or whatever." At Kara's grudging nod, "And since you didn't know the Admiral's actual rescue plans, you couldn't give them any useful information along that front either."

"Yeah, I guess," Kara grudgingly agreed, pulling her hands from Laura's to cross in front of her.

Laura took a moment to consider her own words. In fact, the Cylons had to have known that any information they succeeded in extracting from those left on New Caprica would be of limited value. Which brought up the question, why even interrogate Captain Thrace in the first place? Putting that question aside for another time, Laura took in Kara's slumped posture and wane face, and decided that they'd covered enough tonight. Better to let her think on what had been said than to push it when she was obviously at the end of her emotional rope.

Her hand still rested on the green-clad knee and Laura gave it a pat before rising. She arched her back slightly, trying to work some of the tension loose from aging muscles before speaking again.

"We'll pick this up again tomorrow. Right now, I think you could use some time." Laura moved to the door but stopped short and turned back to see Kara watching her with a hooded gaze. "Captain, thank you for working with me." Seeing the brief lightening of the shadows masking the green eyes, she knew the younger woman had registered her approval.

With a gracious nod to the Sergeant at the hatch, Laura headed back to Colonial One.


	61. Chapter 61 Parry & Punch

Chapter 61 Parry & Punch

As Kara lay under the Raptor doing some odd work for the Chief, she let her mind wander back over the past couple of days. She had settled into an uneasy routine of sorts; maintenance shifts in the mornings, afternoons working on revamping the training manuals, awkward dinners with the Admiral followed by her sessions with Laura and then workouts in the gym with Lee.

The previous two nights Laura hadn't pushed for any new revelations from Kara, instead, making her go into more details and her feelings about her early time with Leoben and the Six. It had been painfully unpleasant…and yet.

Kara sighed and rubbed at an itch on her nose with the back of her hand, trying to avoid smearing grease across her face. She had to admit—very reluctantly—that there as a kind of release in relating her experiences to the older woman. At first, she'd carefully watched for the condemnation she'd expected. Laura's matter-of-fact acceptance had been a surprising balm to her raw core as the memories sorted themselves out in her head.

One area she had resolutely avoided and—so far—Laura had let her, was the remaining gaps in her memory. They were fewer, now that she had remembered her violent attack on Leoben and the beating with the belt and subsequent encounter with Boomer, but she felt that if she looked too closely at the remaining block of time she'd lost, the weight of whatever lurked behind _that_ bulwark would burst forth and crush her. And it already felt like she was treading along a path where one misstep would see the return of the suffocating despair that had encompassed her in the weeks past.

Staring up at the scorched undercarriage of the scout ship, Kara wondered how much longer Laura would let her evade further questions. She shrugged the thought aside and slotted the outer panel over the exposed circuits, giving it a slap to seat it into place before ratcheting home the closures. Pushing out from underneath the repaired bird, Kara stood and stretched her arms above her head, then leaned side to side to loosen tight shoulder muscles.

_Cold metal around her wrists. Arms cramping as they were hauled above her head… _

Abruptly stumbling back against the side of the Raptor, Kara fought to ground herself as sweat beaded her brow and lip and her breaths came shallow and fast. With eyes clamped shut, she focused on the feel of the metal at her back, laying shaking palms flat against its cool surface.

"Kara?"

Her eyes snapped open and she jerked upright from her slouched position against the ship. Lee. Frakkin' great. How much had he seen? Too much, she decided as she met his worried gaze.

After their first night in the gym, Lee had studiously avoided any personal topics, limiting his comments to gym related instructions with the occasional remark thrown in about the pilots and their exploits. So the past two evenings they had managed to co-exist without causing any new wounds or scraping the scabs from old ones.

Now, here he stood, forehead creased as his blue eyes locked with hers. The pity was there this time. She'd been expecting it, and yet, finally seeing it twist his handsome features was more than she could take. Kara swiftly stepped by him, returning the tools to their box and grabbing a well-used towel to scrub at her hands.

The heat of his presence came up behind her, and her already tense shoulders stiffened further.

"Are you ok?" He didn't even try to hide the concern in his tone. Like she really believed it was concern for _her,_ probably afraid she was going to flip out and attack someone.

"Just fine, Major. Gotta lot to do," she said, trying to slide by him without lifting her eyes. His warm palm lightly grasped her bare elbow and the sensation sent a vibrant tingle along her nerves and her breath quickened. Damnit! Her body wasn't supposed to still react to him this way. Hadn't it betrayed her enough already? That thought abruptly cascaded into a different reaction and a surge of revulsion swept through her.

"Get the frak off me, Adama," she snapped, voice oozing vitriol as she wrenched from his hold.

Lee jerked back as if burned, his face a study of confusion at her reaction.

"Kara, what… I'm sorry, I—" he broke off.

"Stay away," she rasped out. "Just stay the frak away from me."

Careful to avoid brushing him, Kara slipped past and swiftly left the hanger bay. So absorbed in the sensation of his eyes on her back and the disturbing reversal of her emotions, she forgot that she'd had another witness to what had just happened. Light footfalls behind her reminded her of the Marine that dogged her wherever she went.

_Guess Mathias got quite a show that time._

Kara wondered if the Marine reported everything she saw to the Admiral. The idea jerked her to a stop in the middle of the busy corridor and she spun on her heels. But when she tried glaring at the shorter woman, Kara found it was her own gaze that broke first. Realizing that she was drawing the attention of the crewmembers in the hall, she grimaced and, with hands on her hips, turn her glare on the gawkers and sent them scurrying. At least she could still intimidate someone, she sourly thought.

Swinging back to Mathias, Kara realized that she wasn't going to be able to unload her ire on the older woman. The Marine seemed impervious to her moods. As she ground her teeth, trying to stuff back down all the churning feelings Lee had stirred to the surface, Kara noticed that Mathias had moved closer and seemed to be debating something.

Apparently reaching a decision, she said to Kara, "Come with me," and, with a jerk of her head, set off along a branching hallway, not even bothering to see if Kara was following.

_Some guard, taking off and trusting her guardee to dutifully tag along._

Starbuck gave a snort of bemused surprise, then shrugged and followed, curiosity shoving the panther of her anger back into its bag as she lengthened her stride to close the gap. Wouldn't do to lose the other woman in the twists and turns of Galactica's pathways.

She saw that the Sergeant had stopped, waiting for her just outside the hatch leading to one of Galactica's three gyms. This one was a popular hang out for the remaining Marines onboard. Mathias gave her another gauging look before stepping across the threshold and Kara followed. Feeling eyes turn on the two of them, she slipped her best Starbuck grin in place as she met the curious looks. A few nods and 'Heys' greeted them as Mathias lead her to the edge of the unoccupied boxing ring.

Kara caught the red gloves tossed her way and looked up from them to see Mathias sliding her own pair on. Starbuck's grin became just a little more genuine as she saw the Sergeant ignore protocol by not bothering with strapping her hands first. Her grin disappeared, though, as she considered the mitts she held. Licking her lips, she raised her eyes back to the older woman and saw that Mathias was calmly watching her.

As her hands squeezed the padded mitts, Kara realized that she just wasn't sure she trusted herself not to lose control. All those time in the detention center she'd fought with the sole purpose of killing. The skin-jobs hadn't stayed dead, but it hadn't mattered, she'd gone for final blood each time. And now…she wasn't sure she was safe, even with the protection of boxing gloves. There wouldn't be any convenient downloading for the Sergeant, and yet there wasn't any fear or uneasiness in Mathias' steady gaze. Just watchfulness.

Shoving aside her doubts, Starbuck's smirk returned as she shrugged out of the orange coveralls and donned the gloves. Neither woman wore workout clothes, but their fatigues would suffice. Ducking between the ropes, she joined Mathias and they began slowly circling, gauging the other and looking for openings.

Half an hour later, Starbuck was leaning against the post in one corner and running her tongue over her cut lip. Besides not having proper clothes, neither fighter had had a mouthguard. Kara's bloody and swollen lip felt good though, assuaging a nagging anxiety that had been building. She remembered her time in the apartment and how her anger had grown over the days until she'd attempt to kill Leoben again. It had been different once Kacey had arrived, but it was like the cycle had been restarted since her return to Galactica. Not wanting to spoil the moment by considering why that was, Kara pushed the thought away.

As she caught her breath, Kara looked across to where Mathias was leaning, hands on knees as she also recovered her wind. The shorter woman had a few splashes of color showing where Starbuck had cut through her guard. Kara might have the reach and speed on the Marine, but Mathias had more experience and they'd proven they were still pretty evenly matched.

Their sparring had begun cautious enough, each testing the other as they recalled their past times in the ring together. As they'd got into it though, the tentativeness had been swept away in the heat of blow, parry and strike. Kara had been relieved that she hadn't lost focus, hadn't forgotten that she faced a human ally, not a Cylon tormentor. One fear resolved. She used her sleeve to wipe the trickling sweat from her face. Despite the bruises and raw areas where the other woman's gloves had slipped past her own, Starbuck felt good for a change. Though, feeling the heaviness in her limbs, she was forced to admit that her endurance still sucked.

By an unspoken mutual consent, both women removed their gloves and jumped down from the ring. A freckled-faced Marine that looked vaguely familiar handed Kara a towel and took the gloves, giving her a shy grin of his own as he did.

_Gods! Was I ever that young? Once, yeah, but never that unworldly._

She wondered briefly how the young man had managed to keep any innocence after all they'd been through. She instinctively wanted to mock him for it, at the same time, his naïve admiration was soothing, reminding her of Kacey—as if a 6'4" redheaded Marine could possibly resemble the blonde tyke that had wiggled past Kara's defenses.

Pulling her regard from the tall boy-man, she saw Mathias waiting for her and was content to follow the woman now, wherever she led. A peace had settled in her for the first time in a long while and Kara was determined to hold onto it as long as possible.

After hitting the showers, the two had gone back to the flight deck just in time to find Cally frantically searching for her.

Not a word had passed between Kara and Mathias since the Marine's original instruction to follow, but, as Cally suggested they go to lunch and hurried off to inform the Chief, the older woman caught Kara's eye.

"Everyone needs to blow off some steam now and then. When you want a rematch, Captain, let me know."

Kara gave her a look in which she hoped the other woman could read her gratitude. Then Cally was back and the Marine resumed her position as Kara's shadow and trailed the pair as they headed off to the mess.


	62. Chapter 62 Marriage Bonds

Chapter 62 Marriage Bonds

The Starbuck glare was in full force as Laura leaned forward and repeated her question.

"Kara, how did Sam die?"

If anything, the glare intensified and Laura had to restrain a sigh. The previous two sessions had gone reasonably well; Kara going into greater detail about what they'd already covered with only mildly grudging resistance. Now, as Laura decided it was time to push again, Starbuck's defenses appeared to be firmly back in place.

This evening Laura had chosen to take a seat in the middle of the Admiral's C-curved couch and patted the cushion beside her. Obviously suspecting that the change meant Laura was going to be asking harder questions, Kara had hesitated a long moment before taking the indicated spot.

The sofa setup wasn't ideal for a face-to-face confrontation. On one hand, it required Laura to angle herself and turn her head to maintain eye contact, but she had carefully considered her choice before sitting. The advantage was that she hoped Kara would feel less like she was being interrogated and more that they were just chatting, at least on a subliminal level. It also allowed Laura to be physically closer, ready to offer support if the opportunity came up. Watching the younger woman bristle suspiciously, Laura suddenly doubted _that_ likelihood.

As Starbuck continued glaring at her, Laura maintained her silence, not bothering to ask the question a third time, just keeping her gaze level and unruffled as she met—and deflected—the emerald shards coming her way.

"D'Anna stabbed him and he bled out, ok?" the sullen reply finally broke their standoff.

Laura stiffened. Had Kara been there when it happened? "D'Anna? D'Anna Biers, the Cylon that posed as a reporter?" she cautiously prompted.

"Yeah, that one…or I guess she's a _Three_. Whatever."

Now, what would the reporter want with Kara? Of course D'Anna had only posed as a reporter to infiltrate the fleet, Laura reminded herself. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated what role this particular Cylon model had played in Kara's interrogation—and her husband's death.

"This D'Anna, she questioned you?" she finally asked as the silence lengthened again.

"Not exactly," Starbuck hedged.

"Then what exactly? What did D'Anna want if not answers?" Laura pushed, feeling that she was coming to a crucial point.

Kara was looking away as she finally answered, "She wanted my compliance… Wanted me to beg. Said she'd stop if I asked nicely," Kara's voice was complex with dark emotions.

"Stop what? What was D'Anna doing that she wanted you to beg to have stopped?" Laura watched as the blonde head dropped to her chest and a shudder spasmed her shoulders.

"It's Anders," the words seem to be coming from a distance as Kara pushed them forth, "She had Sam…and hurt him…" Kara's eyes are clamped shut in her white face. "She had my knife…and she cut him. Said just ask nicely and she'd stop. Like either of us believed that." A bitter laugh cracked from Kara's tight features, and Laura cringed at the impression that it wouldn't take much to shatter the younger woman.

"Kara?"

She shook her head, but then continued, "She watched me…and smiled as she cut him. He knew, we both knew. Couldn't say anything. Couldn't break." Kara paused, rubbing briefly at her temples. She dropped her hands to her side and continued, "See, I didn't remember what had happened before, with my back and…and Boomer." She gave a harsh laugh devoid of humor. "Completely forgot I was gonna tell them whatever they wanted to know. Convenient, huh?"

"It was a defense mechanism," Laura interjected. "You subconsciously continued to resist in the only way they had left you. By blocking out what was too much to endure."

"Right. Then tell me why I didn't just shuffle away what happened with Sam?" Kara's lip curled and she gave a sniff as if scenting a bad odor. "Cause, believe me, I'd love to misfile that memory, Madam President."

"I don't know, _Kara_." Laura pushed ahead. "What did the Cylon do to Samuel?"

"Amused herself for awhile. Notching patterns into his chest and taunting me," Kara bitterly replied and Laura scrutinized her carefully, watching for signs that the troubled woman was losing herself into a flashback as she related what had happened. "He didn't break. We didn't, but then…" As Kara faltered, Laura saw the guilt that caused her to hunch forward.

"Then what?"

"She started taunting him. About us. About our marriage." Laura considered asking what the Cylon had said, but held her silence as Kara continued after taking a shaky breath. "She was gloating, came too close, and I hit her… And she killed him," the flatly spoken words were belied by the haunted green eyes that lifted to meet Laura's. "If I hadn't—"

"Don't," Laura interrupted. "You know she was going to kill him anyways." As Kara opened her mouth, Laura raised her hand and said, "You _know_ it. She would have drawn it out as long as possible, but the result in the end would have been the same." The blonde head turned away. "It was quicker this way," Laura said, offering what little solace she could.

As Kara stared down at her clenched hands in her lap, Laura observed the battle waging between acceptance of Laura's words and Kara's own ingrained belief in her culpability for all the calamities in her life. Truth told, she doubted that the Kara was capable of letting go of her indoctrination any time soon. _That_ was going to take more than a mere handful of chats. When the green eyes shifted to hers again, the shamed grief in their depths confirmed Laura's prediction.

"Sam died because of me. They…they knew who he was. If he hadn't married me, they wouldn't have bothered with him and he'd still be alive."

Laura frowned. It almost sounded like Kara didn't know about her husband's part in the Insurgency. As she thought about it, she realized that it was certainly a possibility if Kara hadn't asked anyone—and people would likely have been hesitant to broach the subject with her when they knew that Anders hadn't survived.

"That's certainly _not_ true," Laura firmly contradicted her. "Not only were the Cylons quite aware of Samuel's activities back on Caprica, but he was caught leading a raid to destroy the power plant they were building on _New_ Caprica. In fact, he, Colonel Tigh and Galen Tyrol were the leaders of the Resistance, so D'Anna would have been thrilled by his capture, and his interrogation would have been _exhaustive_ if she hadn't prematurely killed him. I'm positive that she regretted that mistake."

Kara gave her a startled look. "Sammy never did know how to keep his head down," she said and turned her face away, surreptitiously brushing at her eyes.

Giving Kara time to compose herself, the ex-teacher dabbed at her own, surprised at the wetness on her cheek.

"Did you get what you wanted?"

The sudden bitter accusation rocked Laura mentally backwards. It took her several beats to understand what Kara meant, and to realize that she was reverting to Starbuck's offensive response when caught out in a moment of weakness.

"Kara, this isn't about what I want. It's about what you need," Laura tried to explain.

"I suppose you think I need a good cry. Figure that'll fix me right up?" Still refusing to look at Laura. "I keep telling you it's not that _simple_. Anders is dead. Rotting…" Kara broke off mid-sentence, and Laura could see the spasm pass through the blonde's lean frame and her face blanch.

Taken aback by Kara's abrupt reaction, Laura reached out and lightly touched her shoulder, offering comfort.

The speed of Starbuck's response shocked the older woman. The blonde shot to her feet, knocking Laura's hand aside in one fluid movement. Then Starbuck was looming over her, face contorted and her hand cocked back to strike.

Laura instinctively threw up her own arm protectively over her face, falling against the sofa back. When the blow didn't come, she let the breath she'd inhaled hiss out, and tentatively lowered her arm.

Kara stood several feet distant, slowly backing away with her arms hanging limply at her side. A look of horror dilated the pupils of the sunken eyes and she abruptly turned and covered her face with her hands.

"You should've just left me there. Would've been better for everyone. Safer," Kara said, her voice filled with self-loathing now.

"We've been over this before," Laura vehemently said. "You're hurting. Wounded. And in words that the Admiral would use, we don't leave our wounded behind." She stood and moved closer, careful to not crowd Kara this time.

"My mother was frakkin' right."

Laura closed her eyes briefly, this discussion kept taking unexpected turns that left her feeling motion sick. Well, something made the bile rise in her throat. _Gods, does it always come back to the mother in the end, _Laura wondered, feeling weary beyond her years. _Are we destined to damage our children so badly that they never recover? _

"Your mother was wrong, Kara. You've grown into a strong and beautiful woman that any mother with sense would be proud to call her own." Laura ignored the blonde's headshake. This was just not the time to pursue _that_ topic.

"I think that's enough for tonight, Kara. But I want you to know, you did well," Laura said firmly.

[ I I I I I ]

Kara heard Laura and it was all she could do to keep from turning around and bitterly laughing in the older woman's face. Instead, she said, "Right,I almost hit you," and still refused to face Laura. "Gods, I need a drink…or twenty."

Hearing the hatch open behind her, she could tell that the President was speaking to the guard beyond. She turned her head enough to peer over her shoulder to see if she was finally alone. No such luck. Laura had wandered over the Admiral's bar and was pouring herself to a stiff shot. A bitter smirk twisted one corner of Kara's mouth; she'd succeeded in driving another one of her superior to drink. Another stellar Starbuck success.

"Join me? I dare say the Admiral won't begrudge us one each. Twenty might be excessive, though," Laura said, holding out a glass to her.

Kara debated turning away again, but the lure of the liquid fire was just too much to resist. Maybe it would melt the glacier that had settled in her chest. With jerky strides, she walked over and took the drink with a hand that only shook a little. She tossed the amber liquid back and felt it burn its way down her tight throat. As it hit the bottom, the chill did seem to give way before its spreading warmth.

Giving Laura the smallest of nods in gratitude, she wandered away again. She was too tired to make polite conversation and was wondering how much longer she'd have to endure the President's presence when the hatch opened, and Helo stepped through.

"Madam President," he said, giving her a brief nod.

"Captain Agathon, we were expecting the Major?" Roslin's tone was calmly inquiring. Helo's eyes shifted from her to Kara and back.

"Apollo's been unavoidably detained. Since I'm off-shift, I offered myself in his stead."

Kara saw Laura about to speak, then pause and just give a nod before swiveling back to face Kara. "Until tomorrow then."

As the hatched closed behind Roslin's departing back, Kara regarded her once-friend with a cold stare. "Why're you here, Helo?"

"Since Lee couldn't, figured I'd offer my services to whip your ass back in shape," he lightly teased, seeming oblivious to her less than warm reception.

"They're not needed, so you can go," she said. Then, as he gave her a perplexed look, "I'm sure Sharon'll appreciate your presence more than me." She turned and walked over to the bar, setting her empty tumbler on the counter. Hearing his steps draw near rather than leaving, Kara swung back to face him.

"What's going on, Kara?" Concern tightened the lines of his brow.

"Nothing. I just don't need you."

"Nothing, like hell," he said, squinting slightly as he stepped closer. "You're pissed at me. What for?"

She crossed her arms and gave him a stony stare.

"Is it Sharon? I thought we were way beyond that, Buck."

"Not, Sharon. Not really," she said. "No, it's you. Don't need a friend like you is all."

She watched him recoil as if physically struck, then shift forward again before saying, "Hey, whatever I've done, I'm sorry, Ok. Just give me a bitty clue here, cause you know I'm kinda slow sometimes." He was doing it again; trying to jest with her like this was just one of her broody mood swings.

"Give you a clue? Like you really don't know what you did?" She shook her head. "If you don't get it after losing Hera, then you're too stupid to understand at all."

Again her words hit him like blows and he gust out a breath. "Gods, Kara. What the hell—" he broke off and she saw his eyes widen suddenly. "This is about Kacey?"

Her eyes flickered away at the name, then back to him as he reached for her. This time the blow was physical as she slammed both palms against his chest, thrusting him away.

"Kara, I—"

"Don't bother, Helo."

"But, I was just…" he tried again but trailed off at the unforgiving glare.

"What you and Cottle did... Losing her once was bad enough." She spun back to the bar and swallowed hard. She was not—_frakkin'_ _not—_going cry in front of him.

"Kacey was—" he started.

Grabbing the empty glass, Kara turned and threw it against the far wall. The shattering sound severed whatever he'd been about to say and Helo looked from her to the scattered shards and back.

"Ok. I'll go," he said, voice and expression tight. "But we aren't done. I won't let you push me away forever, Starbuck." Giving her a last frustrated glance, he walked to the hatch and let himself out, sharing a brief word with the Sergeant before striding off.


	63. Chapter 63 Unsettled

Chapter 63 Unsettled

Kara found out the next morning why Lee hadn't been available the night before.

She hadn't been awake when the Admiral finally returned to the cabin last night; it had obviously been very late and she'd already taken the sleeping pill and hadn't heard him. So, the first time she had an opportunity to grill him was over breakfast. He'd been hesitant at first to admit that a group, including Lee and Athena, had been exposed to some type of virus and had spent the last twelve hours in quarantine. Rising from her chair, she'd been ready to rush off to sickbay when his voice had stopped her, telling her that they'd all been cleared and Lee had gone back to his quarters and his waiting wife.

Maybe it was the way the Old Man had stressed the word wife, but Kara had the distinct impression that he was giving her a warning of sorts. Whatever the case, she'd subsided back into her seat and had finished her meal without further conversation.

Throughout her maintenance shift, she kept casting glances around, watching for Lee in case he showed up on the flight deck. He didn't. His absence left her agitated and snappish. The Chief finally assigned her to work alone on one of the Raptors that was thought to be unsalvageable. His choice of jobs hadn't done anything to improve her mood since she decided he'd given her the project, not because of any exceptional mechanical skills on her part, no, but probably figuring that she couldn't do the out-of-commission craft any further harm, despite her current temper.

So it was that Kara was hidden by the tail section of the shuttle when two junior knuckledraggers strolled by, gossiping over the latest rumors. Her attention sharpened when she heard Apollo's name crop up. As she pieced together the partial conversation, Kara went rigid. Then the temporary paralysis released her and she darted around the ship to confront the pair, demanding they repeat what they'd heard.

As her determined strides carried her from the bay with the ever present shadow of Sergeant Mathias quickly following, the Chief approached the shaken young men and asked what had happened. Tyrol's expression was grim as he hurried to the flight deck's nearest phone.

[ I I I I I ]

Kara stood with hands clenched behind her back, a bare two inches from the one-way viewing window of the Cylon holding cell. Despite her nearness to the glass, her body was arched slightly away, conveying the conflict of her emotions. A part of her wanted to be as far away from the group of four Cylon prisoners as possible, yet she had to fight against a savage undercurrent that urged her to go inside and tear them apart. She held herself in place, precariously balanced between the disparate needs.

Through narrowed eyes, she scrutinized the quartet. They were all obviously sick and suffering, just as the deckhand had said. The Admiral's attempt to keep the presence of the prisoners a secret hadn't worked, and Kara bitterly wondered if he'd tried to keep the information from everyone…or just her. Replaying their breakfast conversation from that morning, the small hesitations she hadn't caught at the time were glaringly obvious now. His distrust prodded at the partially healed wound that was their relationship, and she worked her jaw, trying to ignore the hurt of his evasion. He was the Admiral, after all. He wasn't obligated to tell her anything.

Yet…didn't she have the right to know that some of the models that had demolished her life were on Galactica?

Surveying the cell, she saw that it had been stripped except for a table and a pair of cots; her gaze linger on the Simon and Sharon models where they were sprawled together on one of the cot. As she noticed that her hand was unconsciously rubbing at the lower scar on her abdomen, Kara jerked it away and held her arms stiff at her side. A twitch started in her cheek as her eyes settled on the second cot in the cell. The lanky Six was laying face down and shudders were visibly racking her thin frame.

As the image of another Six superimposed over the one in the cell, Kara retreated a step. Closing her eyes, she licked suddenly dry lips and swallowed, trying to work some moisture back into her mouth. When she looked again, the room had righted itself and the Cylon woman was just another copy and not the one that had made each day a test of survival.

Kara took a breath and let her reluctant gaze edge sideways until the male form hunched over the room's single table became her sole focus. The Two was as still as his brethren, only the strained rise and fall of his chest giving proof that he still lived. The Cylon's posture was so like the first time that she'd seen him, that Kara had to blink to shake loose the sense of déjà vu.

Different memories of Leoben—and ominous gaps—stirred her, and the turbulent ride of the emotions made Kara's stomach drop. Her breathing quickened into harsh rasps and she felt more than heard steps draw near behind her. Letting her attention shift only long enough to identify Sergeant Mathias, Kara fixated again on her tormentor that sat a bare ten feet from her.

This bastard…all of them, in fact…had taken months of her life and made them a blackhole of purgatory so dense that it had drawn her in and held her even after she'd left the physical mud of New Caprica far behind. Kara remembered telling the Admiral that dust was all that remained of her world, and now, seeing the personification of her nightmares before her, she could feel her foundation starting to shift from beneath her again. Fighting against it, she stoked her anger, heaping all the bundled memories of pain atop the growing bonfire of her rage.

What she needed now was justice. Let others call it vengeance. She didn't give a flying frak what they thought since here, within reach and vulnerable, were the four most responsible for her summits of pain. Through the deepening haze of her fury, she wondered if the Cylons had ever heard the phrase 'payback's a bitch'. If not, she was about to introduce them to it.

Turning to the Sergeant beside her, "Give me your gun," Starbuck ordered, hand outstretched.

"Sir, I can't. You know I can't," Mathias warily said, her apprehension visible to Kara despite her preoccupation with the foursome inside.

"I gave you an order, Sergeant." Starbuck moved into the Marine's personal space. "Give me your sidearm right frakkin' now!"

The older soldier took a half pace back while raising a warning palm. Kara saw Mathias' quick jerk of the head to the young man assigned to guard the prisoners. But, so focused on her goal, she didn't see him hurriedly lift the ship phone, and his voice was lost in the building rage that muffled Kara's senses. Her attention was so narrowed on the obstacle to her retribution that she was blind and deaf to all else.

"I can't let you shoot the prisoners, Captain," she heard Mathias say, and Starbuck flexed her hands in disbelief.

_She couldn't? Hell, she ought to be frakkin' offering to hold em for me! _

Face twisting with the pressure of her need, _"GIVE ME YOUR GODSDAMNED GUN!"_ Starbuck shouted and started to swipe at the hand in front of her. Her arm met with open air as the Marine retreated another step, taking a defensive stance with her holstered side angled away.

Pushed to action by frustration, Starbuck moved into Mathias, trying to reach around for the sidearm only to find herself denied again as the Marine's palms smacked into her upper chest, the impact thrusting Kara back. With the blow, the last of her control snapped and she was about to lunge into a full attack when a sharp voice impaled her in place.

"_Starbuck! Stand down!"_ Apollo barked out.

As the moment of paralysis passed, she whirled to face the CAG, face taut and hands still half raised, poised to fight.

"Kara, stop it right there," he said, voice dropping in volume but not losing any of its authority.

"They're _mine_," she spat at him, determined not to be cheated of her portion of justice this time.

"No, they're not," Lee firmly contradicted. "The Admiral has plans for them, and even if he didn't, I couldn't let you do this. We don't torture and murder prisoners, Captain."

"Right. Since when?" her tone mocking now. "The Admiral didn't mind when he wanted to know about the nuke Leoben said he'd planted. And the President… Well, she was quick enough airlock his Cylon ass once she was done with him." Intent on her own anger, Kara barely registered Lee's flinch before continuing. "So, I don't know what's your frakkin' problem, Adama?" Pointing at the figures behind the window, she went on, "Cause I owe them a debt of hurt. And I'm ready to pay it back in kind. So help me or get the _frak_ out of my way."

She started to step towards the cell door, figuring that she didn't need a gun anyways; from the looks of them, the Cylons were too weak to put up much of a fight…and it wouldn't be the first time she'd put a skin-job down with her bare hands.

Jolted to a halt by the body suddenly imposed in her path, Kara rocked back.

"No, Kara. Not like this." He grasped her shoulders.

Shrugging him off, "Why not, Lee? Huh? I think its an excellent idea." She gave a mirthless smile, head cocked slightly to the side. "Consider it therapy. I'm just gonna work through my issues. One Cylon at a time." She moved to go around him.

"No," he said, again blocking her way.

"Why do _you_ care if I speed these four along to their god?" Kara asked, trying to understand why he was so insistent on protecting the enemy. She knew first hand that there were no holds barred—on either side—when it came to the treatment of the prisoners of this war. Challenging his troubled gaze, Kara defied him to give her a legitimate reason to deny her this.

"I don't care. Not about _them_." He lifted a hand to her hair, but she batted it away. He ignored the rebuff, and fiercely said, "_You_. I care about you. And, what you're planning to do," jerking his head towards the cell, "it'll mess you up, Kara."

Her incredulous laugh rolled the air between them. "Too late, Major, or haven't you been paying attention. Kara Thrace already boarded _that_ shuttle. So, see, no harm. And the world will be less a few Cylon copies _just_ a little sooner."

Lee's expression turned from concerned to grim, and his hand fell to his side as he straightened. "It doesn't matter, Captain. The Admiral has his own plans for the prisoners, and soon enough there won't be _any_ copies left anywhere."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded, and watched as Lee's blue eyes became opaque as he gave a furtive glance at the silently watching Mathias and the young guard. He inhaled, and she could see him come to a decision.

"In about four hours from now, the Galactica's going to jump into an area where a reconnaissance flight's found a Cylon fleet with a resurrection ship." Kara's brows lifted in surprise. "Once we're within range, we'll execute the prisoners and jump away. Within a few weeks, no more Cylons and the war's over." As her brows furrowed in confusion, Lee must have realized she didn't have the vaguest idea why killing the Cylon prisoners _then_ would make a difference. "Cottle says these," he glanced towards the cell, "have a virus that'll kill them all. Once they download, they'll spread the infection throughout their fleet and beyond."

Her eyes widened and Kara looked over his shoulder at the occupants, seeing again the signs of illness in their pain and sweat-stained countenance. No more Cylons. After all this time running and fighting, the idea seemed incomprehensible to her.

"We're immune?" she asked before realizing how stupid the question was.

"Like the President or dad would risk it otherwise," his grim reply mocked her.

Kara shook her head, still trying to come to grips with this new information. Yet, in a way, it made her need more immediate. Without the prospect of Raiders to blow from the sky in the future, what other form could her retribution take? Her gaze sharpened as she considered Lee's words.

"Just give me Leoben then," she said. "You don't need all of them, right?" At Lee's disbelieving look, "Come on, Lee. What's it matter if I do him, or some guard?" she demanded, flicking a look at the young soldier shifting uncomfortably behind the duty officer's desk.

"Gods, Kara, don't you get it? It's wrong."

"Bullshit. Dead's dead," she said, then corrected herself, "Most of time anyways."

"It's not going to happen," he grimly said, shaking his head to emphasis his decision.

"Fine. Thanks for all your help, Major." She ignored the way he winced at her biting tone. "I'll just leave you here with your rules and morals all intact. Don't worry yourself on my behalf, Sir." She snapped him a salute with all military precision, yet managed to convey her contempt at the same time. As she strode away, she heard Lee instructing Mathias to stay with her, as if she had any hope of shaking the interfering guard.


	64. Chapter 64 Wingmen

Chapter 64 Wingmen

After leaving the brig, Kara restlessly wandered, unwilling to return to the bustling noise of the hanger bay—or the Admiral's cabin while his most recent betrayal was still fresh in her mind. Unguided, her stride took her to Pilot Country and she hesitated outside her bunkroom hatch. Quietly stepping into the room she hadn't occupied in a couple of weeks, she was relieved to find it empty.

Glancing back, she saw that Mathias had taken up a post just beyond the open hatch, apparently suspecting that Kara needed some time alone. Turning back to her locker, she rummaged through the pile in the bottom until her questing fingers touched smooth glass. She pulled free the partially full bottle of ambrosia, the one she'd won the night before her confrontation with the Admiral in the rec room.

Sliding down with her back to the lockers, Kara sat and unscrewed the cap and upended the container, taking a long swallow before lowering it again. She wiped at her lips with an arm and let the bottle dangle from her hand between her raised knees. As sullen thoughts replayed the scene with Lee, her anger at his high-handedness started to build again. What right did frakkin' Apollo have repudiating her claim on the Cylon?

So absorbed in her churlish musings, it was several seconds before she realized that she wasn't alone any longer. Lifting her head, Kara's expression hardened further as she saw Kat leaning nonchalantly against one of the bunks by the entrance.

"What?" Starbuck snapped out, in no mood to deal with the other pilot.

"Drinking alone, Captain?" mocked Kat, a smirk twitching her lips. "Does the CAG know. Or better yet, the Admiral?"

"Leave off, Katraine, and get the hell outta here before you regret saying something you shouldn't," Starbuck warned, rising to her feet, the bottle swinging slightly at her side.

"I'm just surprised you're allowed to drink." Kat straightened, her smirk getting just a little wider, "What with your freak-out and all, I expected the Doc to keep you off the sauce, is all."

"You really want to push this? Now?" Moving to loom over the smaller woman, Starbuck bit out, "Cause I've had a frakkin' bad day, and you're yanking my last nerve. So think carefully about what you say next, Lieutenant, or it'll be you visiting Cottle next."

Maybe Kat read the dead-serious intent in Kara's darkened eyes, or it was the presence of the Marine just feet away, but the younger woman took a half step back and turned without another word and left the cabin. As Mathias looked in, Kara gave her a nod meant to be reassuring, but she still saw the doubt in her guard dog's eyes.

The thought of lingering in the small bunkroom and finishing the bottle had lost its appeal with Kat's baiting. She returned the liquor to her locker and left the room, turning resolutely towards the mess. Her stomach was cramping, and she wasn't sure if it was from the shot of ambrosia, the roil of emotions, or the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Kara wasn't even sure she'd be able to choke down whatever was on the menu, but she decided to at least try.

A half hour later, sopping up the last of the bean soup with a thin slice of bread, Kara was surprised that she felt better for the meal—as meager as it was.

After returning to the Admiral's quarters, the afternoon was a waste of time as she found herself unable to settle to working on the training protocols. When the ship-wide alarm sounded Condition One, she shot to her feet and was half way to the hatch when Mathias blocked her path. Twice in one day! The Marine was _seriously _pissing her off now.

"What? I'm going to CIC," Kara snapped out.

"Sorry, Sir. I have orders for you to stay in quarters until the attack is over," explained Mathias, her tone bland even as she looked ready to repel any attempt Kara made to get by her.

"You're frakkin' joking, right?" At Mathias' headshake, Starbuck spun away, kicking a chair aside as she strove to clamp down on her anger. The Sergeant probably thought she'd be throwing a tantrum next, but she didn't care. Better the chair then having a go at the Marine.

A short time later, she felt the distortion as Galactica made the FTL jump. She could visualize the scene as Vipers were propelled from launch tubes and engaged with the enemy Raiders. She should be out there blasting Raiders apart, for maybe the last time, she thought, railing against the circumstances that kept her grounded.

Less than fifteen minutes later she again felt the vague nausea that signaled another completed jump, and the announcement came over the speakers to stand down to Condition Two.

And, just like that, it was over.

If the Old Man's plan had worked, the prisoners were all dead and the rest of the Cylon race would shortly follow. For the first time, Kara gave thought to what it truly meant, and her mind turned to Sharon, or Athena as she was called these days. Lee hadn't said anything about their resident Cylon being affected, so she had to assume that she was fine. Though how _fine_ she was with the genocide of her entire model, and every other Cylon, Kara was pretty skeptical.

She grimaced, not wanting to feel any remorse over the deaths—the _final _deaths—of their enemies. They'd started it. First the destruction of the Twelve Colonies, then the relentless hounding of the remnants of humanity, it was simply a case of self-defense. Or so Kara told herself, easily squelching the small voice of protest that sounded vaguely like Lee's. Hell, even Lee seemed fully onboard with the idea. Besides, she was just a line soldier. It wasn't her call and, as had been bluntly pointed out, not her concern either.

She wandered back over to the table and tried again to focus.

After unsuccessfully reading the same passage three times, Kara thrust the manual aside and rose to prowl the cabin again. Sergeant Mathias finally suggested they go for a run together after watching her pace for an hour. Kara's first reaction was to refuse. She was still furious at the woman's earlier interference, and besides, she didn't run with anyone other than Apollo. But, as she took another turn about the room, the prospect of several more hours going slowly stir crazy made her change her mind.

Mathias jogged along beside her as they made five complete circuits of Galactica. And, if the older woman noticed the way Kara kept steering them by the CAG's office, she didn't comment. Sweating, calmer and suddenly ravenous again, Kara suggested an early dinner after they had showered and cleaned up. As the two women ate together, Mathias even unbent enough to answer questions about her time before being assigned to the battlestar, and they lingered companionably afterwards over what passed for coffee these days.

When the pair returned to the commander's quarters, it was to find the Admiral waiting. The Marine took her place outside the hatch as Kara stepped through. Moving across the cabin, her eyes took in Old Man's closed expression. Halting abruptly, Kara was unnerved by his continuing silence. She wondered how much of what had happened in the brig had been reported to him. Shifting now beneath his silent regard, Kara dropped her eyes and waited for the expected dressing down.

When it finally came, the harsh voice made her flinch. "Where were you?"

"Sergeant Mathias and I went for a run and then dinner, Sir," she answered, coming to attention but still averting her eyes. His question confused her. Wasn't this about the prisoners?

"You weren't here. And I waited," his tone accusing now.

Kara frowned, still not making the connection until her gaze settled on the two trays of food laid out on the table. As understanding dawned, "You waited for me? For dinner?" Her astonished tone seemed to pierce his displeasure, for the rough lines of his face relaxed.

"Of course," he answered. "Why didn't you leave a note, Kara?"

"A note, Sir?" Startled, she finally met his gaze, still not getting why he was so upset. So she wasn't here for dinner. What did it matter?

"Yes, a note. It's customary when plans change to leave a note, Captain," the censure was back in his voice now.

"So, which is it, Sir—Kara or Captain? Cause either way, I don't know why you're so pissed. It's just dinner," she said turning belligerent at the reprimand.

As Adama came quickly to his feet, Kara flinched away and dropped her eyes again. She raised them when she realized that he wasn't moving. Her confused green ones met the blue of his and she saw pain reflected in their opaque depths and felt her recent meal turn in her stomach.

_Hell, what've I done now to hurt him?_

"Sorry, Sir," she mumbled, looking anywhere but at him.

"Starbu…Kara, no. I overreacted," he said, moving cautiously closer. "I was worried. Expected you here and you weren't. Guess I was looking forward to sharing a meal. A family dinner of sorts," he explained with a small shrug. At her perplexed look, he continued, "I know it's confusing. How we're suppose to act with each other now."

"Yeah, well…" she trailed off and shifted uncomfortably in place, still not sure how she felt about him holding back the information on the Cylon prisoners.

Adama sighed, waving her towards the table. She hesitantly followed and took the indicated seat, staring at the plate in front of her before raising an inquiring brow as he resumed his prior spot.

"Lee and I… We had a disagreement," he paused with a grimace, then gave shake of his head as if to dispel a distracting thought. "This isn't about Lee. I wanted to talk with you. Explain. About the prisoners," he said.

She tensed, not wanting to discuss his distrust and, she reluctantly admitted to herself, her reaction that justified his caution. Trying to keep her shifting emotions from her face, Kara watched as Adama fiddled with his fork before setting it aside to take a sip of water. He cleared his throat as he set the glass down and finally met her eyes again.

"I heard you found out about the prisoners. I had felt it best, all things considered, to withhold that information…from you." He paused, searching her face. She didn't know what he saw, but he continued. "I get that you're probably ang—"

"Probably?" she interrupted, then bit back other words as his brows lowered.

"It was for your own good," he said.

She ground her teeth together and looked away, determined not to get into an argument with him. She heard him sigh, but didn't look back. When she felt his hand close on hers where it rested on the table, it was all she could do not to yank it away.

"Kara, I did what I thought best. For you. For all of us."

"And did it work, Sir," she asked, managing to sound politely inquiring.

"No. No it didn't."

Her head jerked around to glare at him, and this time she did pull her hand free.

"So, what was the point?"

With her rejection, he seemed unsure what to do with his hand and finally ran it through is hair, looking so like his son for a moment that Kara blinked.

"The point was to end this," he said with a vague wave. "To stop the Cylons for good. The point was to survive."

Kara closed her eyes, trying to sort the jumble of conflicting emotions. She _really_ didn't want to fight with the Old Man, and a part of her knew he had only been trying to protect her. The problem was that she instinctively rejected any attempt to do so.

_What am I, some little comm officer that needs to be sheltered by Papa Adama? _

She picked up her knife and jabbed at the mystery meat in front of her. No. It wasn't the time to dredge up _that_ topic. Resolutely pushing thoughts of Dee aside, Kara peeked a look through her lashes at the man beside her. He was leaning back slightly in his seat, regarding her with that penetrating stare he had. Why hadn't he leveled with her earlier about the captured Cylons? 'For her own good', and what the frak was _that_ suppose to mean? Giving a mental shrug, she acknowledged that he'd foreseen exactly what had happened, that she'd have blood in her eyes and vengeance in her soul.

_Damned straight! After what those frakker did…_

The room rang with the sound of metal on metal as her knife clashed with the tray. As she stared at her white-knuckled grip on the blade impaled through the slab of meat, chopsticks abruptly superimposed over her vision and a wave of dizziness swept her.

"Kara? Kara!" a sharp voice broke through the dual image.

Blinking rapidly, she forced her fingers to detach, one by one, from the knife. That, too, carried a sense of déjà vu and she clasped her shaking hands out of sight in her lap.

"What is it?"

Her eyes flitted to his, just long enough to note his worried expression before dropping again.

"Kara!" A third time he called her name, more demanding, and she knew it was either respond or have him overreact.

Forcing words through her constricted throat, "Sir, I…" Eyes shifting to her glass, she longed to take a drink but didn't trust her shaking hand enough to reach out. She moistened her lips instead. "I'm good. I… It's passed. I'm fine now." At his skeptically look, "Really. I'm Ok."

"You had a flashback?" Half question, half statement. She gave a jerky nod. "Want to talk about it?" At her vehement headshake, "I'm here. I'll listen."

"I just want to forget, Sir," she fervently said.

"So how's that been working for you?" His words were lighter, with just the hint of a scoff that pulled her gaze to his.

"Not so much," she confessed, feeling her lips twitch as he arched a brow at her. "What do they say about someone that keeps doing the same thing over and over and keeps expecting a different result? Guess I'm not so much out-of-the-box as I like to think, huh."

His mouth definitely twitch up in response as he relaxed back in the chair.

"You're no old warhorse, like me. Still time to learn new gaits," he said.

"Back on the horse, and all that, Sir?"

"With you, it's too late to close the barn door, Starbuck."

"Yeah, you can lead me to water, but you know I only drink ambrosia."

Both were trying to hold back grins now at the ridiculously clichéd lines they were tossing out; rewinding to a time when they use to play just this game with each other, seeing who could keep it going the longest.

With the tension broken, Adama sat forward and lifted a fork laden with some type of orange mash. Squash maybe? Swallowing the bite, he poked towards her meal with the utensil.

"You should eat."

"Already did, Sir," she reminded him.

"Right. Guess the memory's not as sharp as it once was," he said, scooping up another bite. He nodded with a 'hmmm' in his throat. "This isn't half bad. You should at least try it."

Pulling the knife free, Kara purposely set it aside and took a tentative taste of the vegetable. Sweet Potatoes, she realized, and, as the taste filled her mouth, she thought there was just the hint of…cloves?—nutmeg?—she didn't know, never being much for spices, or cooking at all, for that matter. But the Old Man was right. It was good, and she shoveled another mouthful in before glancing up.

"Good," she mumbled at his inquiring look.

"Being the Admiral has a few perks," he said, cutting into his portion of protein. The grimace that followed that bite spoke for itself, and Kara knew not to bother with the mystery-meat selection. Though, given how short rations were getting, she wondered how long before even that became manna to be thankful for?

After finishing the yams, she lounged back, nibbling on a crust of bread and watching the Admiral eat. Her thoughts flicked back through the day's events and their meanings and she wondered again why so many people seemed determined to 'protect' her. The idea that they cared for her, and that's what normal people do when they care for someone, seemed foreign when applied to her. Yet…isn't that how she felt, too, towards those in her life?

She shelved that thought for now, but knew she'd have to pull it out again and prod at it another time. For now, it was enough to relax for a moment, and pretend that this was just another quiet evening spent in the Old Man's company before the worlds ended. They use to get together for dinner once a month and just talk; mostly about happenings around the ship, or swapping stories and discussing the latest news from the Twelve Colonies.

A couple of times a year their talks had turned to Zak. Kara knew that _those_ dinners had been bittersweet for both of them. Each had held a fist of guilt clenched about their hearts, though that never came up between them. The Admiral usually would reminisce about his sons as boys, and Kara would relate some antic of Zak's during their time together. Without ever acknowledging it, the sharing of their grief lessened it for both, and an 'almost daughter-in-law' became a daughter of the spirit.

Kara's thoughts of Zak lead her back to Lee and a comment the Old Man had made earlier.

"So, you and Lee at it again?" she prompted.

As Adama sat back and wiped his mouth with a napkin, she saw the flash of distaste cross his face and suddenly hoped she hadn't spoiled his appetite.

He gave a barely discernible shrug then said, "It seems I can't talk to my own son without it escalating into a fight." He took a sip of water before continuing, "My skills as a father appear to be sorely lacking." The look he gave her now seemed to be seeking something from her, and she searched for words.

"Skills take practice, Sir. Neither of you has had a lot of that with each other," she said, offering him what little advice she could. "Besides, I kinda doubt Lee got his obstinate streak from his mom."

Adama huffed a laugh then picked up his fork again and waved it in her direction. "And you'd be the expert on obstinance."

"My expertise on _that_ subject is widely acknowledged," she said, her lips sliding briefly into a smirk as she slouched sideways on the chair's armrest.

As the Admiral dug into his meal with renewed enthusiasm, they fell back into the comfortable rhythm of their exchanges from years past and Kara was reluctant for it to end when the steward finally came to remove their dishes. She rose with the Admiral and followed him to the hatch, stepping aside as Mathias entered as he left.

When the President arrived only a few minutes later, Kara was surprised. The day had taken so many disjointed turns that she'd actually forgotten about her upcoming session.

She could feel all the tension returning to her body as she followed the other woman over to the sofa and took a seat.


	65. Chapter 65 Sustenance

Chapter 65 Sustenance

Laura studied Kara as she took a seat. The younger woman _appeared_ in better shape than Laura had expected. She'd heard through a source about Kara's visit to the Cylon holding cell and had been initially concerned that it might set their progress back. Tapping a finger on the armrest, she briefly considered if Major Apollo had been wrong in denying Kara access. Laura had little doubt about what the younger woman had wanted to do to the prisoners, she just thought that a controlled confrontation might have been beneficial. Given the right oversight, it had had the potential of being cathartic.

With a mental shrug, she let the thought go, it was far too late to suggest the idea now, anyways. But she was pleasantly surprised to find Kara reasonably calm and not bursting with the restrained anger she'd been expecting. Laura decided to get straight to the matter she was determined to cover tonight.

Leaning forward, "Tell me what happened after Sam died," she asked, tone both coaxing and commanding.

A mix of emotions tightened Kara's suddenly vulnerable face, and Laura suspected that they might be approaching a key to the psychic wounds the young woman seemed desperate to conceal.

"After…after Sam…" Kara began, but trailed off. Laura could almost see the mental shift as Starbuck was pushed to the forefront yet again before she continued, "They decided to leave me to think about it for awhile. Oh, and they cut off my room service. Guess I forgot to pay the room bill."

Laura took a second to decipher what Starbuck was getting at, and then lifted an eyebrow in understanding.

"They withheld food?" she guessed.

"Got it in one. Always knew you were sharp."

Laura tilted her head, seeing through Kara's attempt to make light of it; she was hiding behind Starbuck again and, in this battle of wills, Laura was not going to let her get away with it. This constant fight to get past the pilot persona was tiring but Laura had known going in that it would be necessary. She just hadn't realized it would be an _every_ _single_ _time _thing.

"So, whose idea was that?" she calmly asked, firmly suppressing her frustration.

Starbuck gave a shrug and said, "Don't know. Don't care," her nonchalant manner belied by the quickening of her breath.

"It was Leoben, wasn't it, Kara?" Laura's guess was confirmed when Kara stiffened, her frame tensing.

"Like I said…_don't _know and _don't _care," Starbuck repressively said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"But you do know. And for some reason it matters very much. Why do you suppose that is?"

Observing the thinning lips and closed posture, Laura recognized that Kara was digging in her heels again. A wave of weariness swept through her as she tried to think of a way to bypass Starbuck's defenses. The signs all pointed to something Kara was hiding. Something involving the male Cylon. Knowing that it was likely of a sexual nature only made Laura even more unsure of how to handle the situation. As a wave of fatigue rolled through her, she was tempted for a moment to insist that Bill find someone better qualified to fill her place. But, as she caught a glimpse of the vulnerable young woman that lurked behind the defiant eyes, Laura shoved the thought aside and mentally girded her loins, preparing herself to face off against the Viper jock once again.

"Leoben suggested it, didn't he? We both know it. Why deny it, Kara?" Laura pushed, and was prepared this time when Starbuck pushed back, exploding off the sofa to lean menacing over her.

"I. Don't. Know," she hissed, inches from Laura's face. "They left me in that frakkin' cell. It was hell, Ok. Is that what you want me to say?" Then, easing away slightly, she added in a more controlled voice, "It wasn't a frakkin' party, you know."

Determined, voice firm, Laura forged ahead, "They left you alone?" she asked, ignoring the quiver in her stomach in response to Starbuck's invasion of her personal space.

The green-gold eyes blinked several times as if Kara were confused by what exactly was meant by the question. Abruptly jerking back from her looming position, Starbuck moved away, and Laura felt stomach muscles loosen as the blonde's palpable energy withdrew.

Watching her stalk around the room, Laura was reminded that the young woman before her today had been molded as a child. She had learned to repress the pain of abuse and pretend she was fine, taught never to show weakness or fear. No wonder Kara was pacing the room like she might combust at any second. She only knew how to fight, or take the blows and internalize the harm. Asking her to let that damage be exposed—and painfully probed—was likely alien to everything she'd ever been taught.

As Laura felt a tear course down her cheek, she was tempted to blame the exhaustion that was a constant part of her life again since leaving New Caprica, but she also knew that the extremity of the forces that tore at this young woman was truly at fault.

"Kara, please come sit down," Laura softly said, her hand waving to the couch beside her. She didn't try to hide the wetness that continued to track down her face. "Please, Kara," she repeated, letting her concern show.

Starbuck stopped her pacing, obviously at a loss how to handle Laura's open appeal. She drifted back over and sat. "What do you want from me?" she asked in bewilderment.

"You know what I want. Just let me help you, Kara."

Kara shut her eyes, then muttered, "How?"

"Just talk. Tell me what happened," Laura gently said, watching the pale face before her fighting to find a way to meet her challenge.

Finally the blonde head bent and Kara spoke, the words coming haltingly at first then building momentum as they tumbled forth. "I lost track of time... They left me alone…for I don't know how many days. Didn't really care any more," she admitted. "Then he came…" Kara stopped, and Laura heard her reluctance to saying the Cylon's name out loud.

"Leoben?" she softly prompted as the silence stretched between them.

Kara jerked a nod. "Said he could make it go away. The pain. All of it…" As Kara met her gaze, Laura saw the bitterness and despair in their depths. "All I had to do was accept him. Tell him I loved him. Do what he asked…whatever he asked... Frakkin' bastard."

"He wanted you to give him control," said Laura, working her way through the twisted demand the Cylon had made. "And did you?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral, striving to avoid anything that might be construed as judgmental.

She needn't have bother trying, Starbuck still flashed defensively forward with a hot,_ "Frak no!"_ as she shot to her feet again, glaring at her.

Laura let a sigh escape as she gently shook her head at the reaction. "Kara, please sit down. We're just talking. You and me," she said. "I'm not here to judge you, just to listen."

"Like hell you're not!" Starbuck fiercely shot back. "What do you know of what it's like to hurt so bad you just want to die. But you can't…because _they won't allow it,_" she bit out. "And besides, you're a good little soldierand not a coward. What would the Admiral think?" Kara's lips pursed as she swallowed, then continued, "The Admiral, he'd be disgusted, because he'd finally know what your mom always did…That you're a worthless frak-up." As she finished, Kara slouched back into the chair like maybe she thought it was possible to disappear if she could just make herself small enough.

"That's enough!" Laura admonished, "You can't believe Admiral Adama would think any such thing. That anyone would." As she reached a hand to lay on one of Kara's knees, palm settling on the worn material, the older woman suddenly remembered why that was ill-advised and her eyes darted to meet Kara's. The other's shadowed gaze turned away from her wary one, but that was the only response she made to Laura's physical attempt at comfort.

Leaving her hand where it lay, Laura cleared her throat before speaking again, "You refused. Refused Leoben," she said, letting Kara know that she believed her.

"Like I said," Kara muttered, "told him to frak-off," her eyes still averted.

"How did he take that?"

"Gave me that smug smile of his. Said he'd be back to see if I'd changed my mind." Kara ran her hands up and down her pant legs.

"And he did come back?"

"I was drifting in and out…but yeah," she confirmed in a low voice, "he came back."

Laura nodded, knowing that Leoben had given her a choice. Him and life or refusal and death. Kara had made her choice only to discover she'd never really had one to begin with.

"But Leoben was bluffing, he wouldn't let you die," Laura stated.

Kara rubbed her forehead with her palm, and then said, "I remember someone holding me up, forcing me to swallow. A day or so passed before I was coherent enough to know it was _him_."

Laura sat back in her seat, digesting what she'd been told. Starbuck had refused to fold to Leoben's demands, deciding to accept death before accepting the Cylon male. There was nothing in her words or manner that suggested she had known that Leoben was bluffing. Perhaps if she'd been in better shape, she would have realized that the Cylon was not about to let her slip out of his grasp, not when he finally had her in his power.

It was clear that she had fully expected to die. Laura shook her head at the tangled cords of guilt and self-loathing that Kara had managed to knot up within herself. Had she really thought that Admiral Adama wouldn't understand her actions?

Taking a breath, she pushed ahead, "What then?"

"When he knew I was awake, he said…said that we were meant to be together. Said, since I couldn't take care of myself, he'd have to do it."

"How did Leoben 'take care of you', Kara?"

[ I I I I I ]

"How did Leoben 'take care of you', Kara?" Laura's question submerged Kara back into the memory.

_She was trying to scramble away from Leoben, hampered by the heavy weight anchoring her at the wrist. Her breathing was ragged as he smiled sadly, and then asked her, one more time, if she was ready to accept what he offered. When she replied only over her dead body, he shook his head and said 'sorry, not an option.' _

_Then he beckoned the two Centurion guards to restrain her. One straddled her hips, grasping her shoulders as it pushed her to the floor while the second latched onto her head, their metal strength locking her firmly in place. She screamed at the Toasters to get the frak-off as Leoben kneeled beside her. Producing a plastic cylinder and length of rubber hose, he wedged the cylinder between her teeth, then shoved the tubing through it and down her throat, careful to check that it had gone into her stomach. '__I'm sorry you've made this necessary, Kara. It's for your own good,' __he said as he funneled a thick liquid through the tube, ignoring her panicked gagging._

Within the Admiral's quarters, the color drained from Kara's face as she started coughing and choking. Frantically springing to her feet with a hand over her mouth, she rushed to the Admiral's washroom.

She didn't notice when Laura slipped a supporting arm around her waist, her body and mind were too intent on expelling the feeling of being violated. Lost in the memory of metal hands clamped on her prone body and Leoben thrusting the tube into her mouth, her stomach roiled again, causing another round of vomiting.

Gradually the racking spasms eased and Kara was able to fight free of the flashback. She focused on the rim she clenched with white-knuckled hands, feeling its cold surface beneath her palms. There was someone beside her, a hand gently pulling her hair back from her sweat-beaded face to tuck it behind her ears. Her arms quivered from supporting her weight over the bowl and her legs were threatening to give from beneath her by the time her thoughts cleared enough to place where she was.

Blinking to clear her vision, she twisted and let herself slide down until she was sitting with the rim at her back. She'd felt the supporting arm help ease her down then withdrawal but hardly noticed. Now, movement drew her dazed eyes as she finally recognized the woman rummaging about the small room. Not up to facing Laura, Kara drew in her knees and put her hands over her face, concentrating on breathing slowly in and out like Cottle had taught her.

[ I I I I I ]

After releasing Kara's shuddering form, Laura did a brief search of the Admiral's utilitarian bathroom, finally finding a handcloth. Wetting it with cold water, she wrung it out, and returned to squat in front of the young woman. Gently forcing the trembling hands down, Laura cleaned the spittle from the still quivering chin, then refolded the cloth and began dabbing at the sweat-streaked face. Kara's deeply wounded eyes clung to her as Laura tenderly cleaned her up.

As exhaustion replaced Kara's raw revulsion, Laura's palm warmed the pale cheek with a sympathetic caress. She found the younger woman's lack of resistance to her ministrations disquieting since it was so at odds with her usual behavior. And Laura had little doubt that a severe flashback had triggered the intense reaction.

When Kara let her eyes fall shut and her head droop onto her knees, Laura sat back on her heels and weighed her options. The young woman's fatigue went deeper than her mere physical condition, she was obviously soul-weary. She'd had all she could handle—more than she could handle—judging by her current state. And what she need now was rest. Trouble was, Laura wasn't sure if she could even get Kara on her feet. She briefly debated getting the Marine guard to come help, but brushed the idea aside.

Laura gave the still figure a gauging look, then rose, daring to leave her briefly to hurry back into the main room and to the well stocked bar. She picked up a tumbler, then grabbed a second along with a bottle she recognized being offered on other occasions, and returned to the small washroom.

Kara hadn't moved.

Setting both glasses on the countertop, Laura sloshed a generous portion into each. As she set the decanter to the side, the ex-teacher was rather surprised at how steady her hands were. Through her wide-rimmed glasses, she turned her palms over and stared at them for a moment, unsure how they could be unaffected when she felt ready to rattle apart on the inside. She knew _why_ she was so disturbed; the degree of damage Kara Thrace had suffered would be a challenge for even an experienced trauma psychiatrist. Expecting Laura to find her way through the minefield of Kara's experiences was like asking a field medic to do brain surgery. But what choice did she have. If there was nobody else, and the medic…she…did nothing, then the patient would surely die. Kara's instability was obvious to even one with Laura's inexperience. She knew Bill was right. Left on her own, Kara would self-destruct in a way that there was no coming back from.

Taking a deep breath, Laura closed her eyes then slowly let the air out and opened them again. Securely grasping both tumblers, she gingerly lowered herself onto the cold floor along side the younger woman.

Letting her shoulder lean lightly against Kara's muscled one, Laura dared to give her a slight nudge as she said, "I come bearing gifts." She held out one of the glasses as the blonde head rose and turned her way. At first Laura wasn't sure the other woman was going to take her offering as Kara sat blinking at the outstretched hand and it's burden before reaching forward to take the proffered drink. She took a small sip, perhaps unsure if it would stay down after all the earlier vomiting. After a second, slightly larger swig, Kara rested her cheek against the glass as if needing something to prop her head on to keep it upright.

Laura let her be as she sipped her own drink, feeling the fiery liquid cleanse her mouth and throat. It seemed that they both needed a drink after these sessions. She fervently hoped they'd not go through the Admiral's _entire _supply before they were finished. Casting a glance at the face just a short span from her own, Laura felt an awe at the younger woman's courage. That Kara had survived what she had as a child, then on New Caprica, and was _still _fighting to hang on even as the past kept sweeping forward to knock her off her feet was a testament to her strength.

Now if only she could get Kara to see it that way.

Laura understood what it felt like to have something you couldn't fight crush the last of your will to survive. Her cancer might be in remission, but Laura clearly remembered the hopelessness that had had her questioning why she even bothered getting up each morning. A person's mind, body and spirit could only take so much before the effort to continue became too much. It didn't make one a coward, just someone desperately in need of help.

Making a pledge with her drink, Laura vowed that regardless of how bad it got, how unprepared Laura herself felt, she'd not give up on the younger woman. With that promise made, she pushed herself back to her feet. As the blonde head looked up, Laura offered her hand to help her up. Again Kara stared, blinking for an indeterminate time before reaching out to lock wrists and, with help, struggled onto unsteady legs.

She assisted the shaky woman over to the couch. Spotting the pillow and blankets where they were tucked behind the sofa, Laura grabbed one of each.

"Lay down for awhile," she said, placing the pillow near the silent figure. It was a measure of the emotional assault she'd just endured that Kara didn't bother to argue, just lowered onto her side and drew her legs up.

Laura leaned over and loosened the ties on the pilot's military-issued boots, then tugged one off, letting it fall with a dull thump. As she worked to pull off the second, she felt green eyes on her. Glancing over, she gave the pale woman a reassuring smile. It only took another moment to shake open the olive-green blanket and spread it over the still form, but she noted that Kara's eyes had closed and her breathing was already deepening into sleep.

Easing the hatch open as quietly as she could, Laura asked in a low voice for the guard to call Major Adama to report to the Admiral's quarters, and left instructions for the Sergeant to avoid unnecessary noise and disruptions.

As she turned back to her sleeping charge, Laura grimly reflected on the severity of Kara's flashback. And she knew it was a flashback, coming to recognize the signs of one compared to when Kara was just relating an experience. This had been the most severe by far. And it all centered around the Cylon male, Leoben. Had he raped her? Was that what had set Kara off?

Wrapping her arms about herself, Laura sighed, wishing she'd gotten more out of Kara before losing her to the traumatic memory. She didn't dare question her now, not in the shocky stated she was in.

Rubbing at her thighs, she tried to chaff back some of warmth that she'd lost sitting on the cold floor of the washroom. Kara wasn't the only one drained from the experience, Laura's own limbs felt heavy with fatigue. Waiting in the quiet cabin with the only sounds that of the sleeping woman and the faint ship noises that filtered through the metal walls, Laura massaged her temples, trying to ease the rising headache that throbbed in rhythm with her heartbeat.

Hearing the hatch behind her open, she swung around, putting a finger to her lips to shush the Major as he stepped inside. She could see the young officer's confusion as he glanced around the cabin. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Kara's sleeping form. He moved closer so she could hear his restrained whisper.

"What happened? I thought I was taking her to the gym?" he asked with a nod at the sofa's occupant.

"Change of plans, Major," Laura said, keeping her own voice as low as his. "let's just say it was a rough session. She won't be going any place tonight. I need you to stay with her to make sure she's ok. From what I hear, she's subject to nightmares, and…," she paused, casting a worried look towards the alcove, "and I think she's likely to have one tonight," she finished.

"I thought the Doc gave her pills for that," he asked.

"Yes, well…she didn't take them." He raised his eyebrows at her answer. "She can take one later, if she wakes," Laura added, not clarifying why Kara hadn't taken the medication.

"Where are you going?" Lee asked as he realized that Laura was heading for the door.

"I need to confer with your father," then adding in a weary voice, "and I still have several hours worth of paperwork waiting for me on Colonial One."

That apparently made Lee pause, he probably hadn't given much thought to how much time she was carving out of her busy schedule to meet each night with Kara.

She was halted by a light touch on her arm. "What's going on with her? Is she alright?"

Seeing the deep concern in the blue eyes, Laura was reminded how much the Major cared for the woman she was fighting to save. She wished she could tell him that Kara would be fine, but he'd immediately see through that lie.

"Major, she's far from 'alright', but I certainly hope that she'll recover. I can't tell you any more than that."

"Can't or won't," he sharply responded, then cast a guilty look to see if he had disturbed Kara. Since she hadn't stirred, he looked back at Laura, his eyes still demanding an answer.

Laura studied the younger Adama for a moment before answering, "My conversations with Kara are private. I do share what information I deem appropriate with the Admiral." Speaking softly but with steel behind it, she added, "What he chooses to divulge to you is his business. I won't break Kara's trust, so don't expect me to indulge your curiosity, Major."

Lee's head jerked back as if she'd slapped him. As his face reddened, he hissed, "It's not _curiosity_, Madam President. She my friend…and more. I need to know what happened so I can help her," he said, keeping his voice low.

"None-the-less, ask your father or Kara yourself. It's not my place to share with you," with that, the she left the young man scowling as she departed.

[ I I I I I ]

Lee settled into one of the comfortable chairs, near enough to keep an eye on the sleeping form, but giving her some distance at the same time. Scrubbing at his cheeks, he could feel the afternoon stubble against his palms as he watched over his…friend.

How was he suppose to make the President understand what Kara was to Lee when he couldn't even sort it out himself? The stubborn woman drove him to frustrated fury while at the same time causing his heart to quicken at the possibility of holding her in his arms. Lee knew that he was a problem solver. Listen. Evaluate. Plan, and finally, execute. It's who he is, and to be cut out of being part of the solution to Kara's crisis was almost more than he could bear.

Resolving to speak with his father later, he was determined to pry what he could out of his dad with the demand that he was on a need to know basis since he was the one taking Kara to the gym each night. With that plan decided, he leaned back and settled into safeguarding the sleeping figure.


	66. Chapter 66 Progress Report

Chapter 66 Progress Report

As Admiral Adama followed Laura Roslin into the empty wardroom, her fatigue was obvious to his discerning gaze. He'd known that her sessions with Kara were draining, but seeing the toll they were taking after less than a week worried him. He didn't need to be told that tonight had been especially trying, the drawn lines across her brow and around the thinned lips attested to the stress of the past hour.

"Water?" he offered. Then as Laura took a seat, a weary sigh escaping her, he suggested instead, "Or should I send for something stronger?"

"Water, please," she answered. "I have several petitions still to review before tomorrow, and any more to drink tonight and I'll never get them done," she said, explaining her refusal.

Nodding his understanding, Adama passed her the requested glass and settled into his own chair, patiently waiting for her to update him on the latest developments.

Laura sipped at her water, perhaps organizing her thoughts over what he needed to know and what should be kept between her and Kara.

"I've been trying to establish a timeline for Kara's four months in the detention center," she began. "The first six weeks she spent confined in the apartment with Leoben. After that, a Six model interrogated for another two weeks or so," she reviewed. He nodded, they'd already covered this in more detail the previous night, so he didn't feel it necessary to comment further.

Laura continued, the effort apparent as she strove to keep her voice calm, "Around week nine, D'Anna Biers executed Kara's husband in front of her." Again he nodded for her to continue. "The next block of time is unclear, I tried to get Kara to tell me what happened, but she had such a intense flashback that I couldn't get any details out of her, just that Leoben was involved."

The Admiral's face hardened at the name, his worst fears seemed to be confirmed, that Leoben had severely traumatized his girl. He forced his fisted hands to unclench and worked his jaw sideways to loosen it before he could force the words out.

"Did he…rape her?"

"I don't know, Bill," Laura answered. "The flashback hit her so fast…and afterwards she was in a state of shock. I almost called Dr. Cottle, but got her to lay down and now she's sleeping." At his raised eyebrows, she added, "I left Lee watching over her. I don't know what state she'll be in when she wakes. Didn't want to leave her alone with just a Marine guard."

Unable to remain sitting, Adama rose to pace the small room. "What now?" he asked of the watching woman.

"I'm…I'm not sure," she admitted. "I think I need to consult with Dr. Cottle. The flashbacks…" she trailed off. Rubbing her temples, she continued, "Maybe he can give her something to…I don't know…distance it some?"

"Anything else?" he hesitantly asked, afraid what else she might add.

"Not for tonight. I'll be a little late tomorrow, have a working dinner with the representative from Tauron," she said, rising to her feet. "I'll be over as soon as I can afterwards."

"Should we give it a night off?"

"No," she answered with a headshake. "I want to press her while she's still feeling unbalanced."

"Is that wise?"

"You're asking me?" She was obviously feeling out of her depth again. "I just feel that it'll be even harder if she has more time to shore up those shields of her."

Escorting Laura to the door, he decided that he was just going to have to rely on her instincts and hope they stayed true. As he watched her walk away, he noted again the dragging heaviness to her step and sent a pray to gods he didn't really believe in that the Laura had to strength to bring Kara back from the precipice on which she teetered.

[ I I I I I ]

Finally calling it a night a few hours later, Bill made a point of entering his quarters as quietly as possible. Though what he walked into was different then he'd expected. Lee was slouched sideways in a chair, his even breaths attesting to his deep slumber despite his awkward position. As his gaze shifted from his sleeping son to the figure on the couch, he was surprised to see green eyes watching him appraisingly. The familiar face was pale but alert as Kara eased herself into a sitting position, rotating her neck to ease stiffened muscles. She gave him a silent nod and just as quietly disappeared into the washroom.

Adama stared after her a beat, both reassured by her calm demeanor and secretly disturbed by it after what Laura had told him. Tearing his attention from the closed door, he laid a firm hand on his son's shoulder, giving it a small shake to rouse the figure.

Lee came abruptly awake, staring around him with bewildered eyes as he placed where he was. The younger man's face took on a slightly pink cast when he realized he'd fallen asleep. Bill saw the moment when panic gripped Lee as he saw the empty couch and scrambled to his feet, searching the cabin with frantic eyes.

As Bill spoke, Lee's gaze shifted him, "She's in the head," he said, answering the unspoken question.

"She's Ok?" Lee anxiously asked.

"Appears so. I'll take it from here," the Admiral said, the dismissal clear in his voice. As Lee started to protest, he was waved to silence with an upraised hand by his father. "Call it a day, Major. We've all had a long one."

Lee gave his father a nod of acquiesce and left the cabin with stiff strides.

[ I I I I I ]

The Admiral was waiting for Kara with her sleeping pill cupped in his one hand and a glass of water in the other when she finally left the lavatory. Seeing the Old Man standing patiently waiting for her with her medication, Kara grimaced, then strode up to him, extending her own hands. Silently she turned away as she knocked back the pill, gulping the water to wash the aftertaste down.

Kara fidgeted with the empty tumbler, not wanting to have to see again the concerned pity in the Admiral's eyes which she knew would still be there if she faced him. She felt his presence as he stepped closer behind her and tensed for the expected physical contact. When it didn't come, she was surprised enough to glance over her shoulder, only to see him move back with his arms held rigidly at his side.

Disappointment and a lonely loss suffused her at the same time as relief at his withdrawal.

_Damnit, Thrace. What the frak's wrong with you, _she berated herself._ Don't want to be touched, yet mad he didn't hug you? What are you, a child that needs 'daddy' to tell you it'll all be frakkin' Ok?_ She looked away again, castigating herself for the conflicting emotions.

"See you in the morning, Kara," the Admiral said, moving past her to his own sleeping compartment.

"Yes, Sir," was all the young and confused woman managed, not sure if he'd even heard her, the only words she'd spoken since waking. She finished getting ready for bed, already feeling the medication causing a lassitude to spread through her limbs. Sinking again into the blankets spread across the sofa, she sent a whispered thank you to the Admiral for insisting that she down the pill and forestall the dreaded nightmares.

She let her eyes droop shut, knowing that she could drift off, unafraid of hands disturbing her for tonight at least.


	67. Chapter 67 Avoidance

Chapter 67 Avoidance

Breakfast the next morning was eaten in almost complete silence as the Admiral's attempts at conversation were met with non-committal mumbles by Kara. The fact that she was still refusing to look at him wasn't missed by Adama. He had thought both he and Laura were making progress with her, but he certainly couldn't see it in her responses today. Excusing himself, he left for CIC early, unable to bare being all but ignored by the withdrawn young woman.

As the Admiral fled—and 'fled' was the impression Kara got from his hurried departure—she watched him disappear with conflicted feelings. She knew he had tried to draw her out, get her to share what was going on with her, but she'd pushed him away, like she always did.

And she knew why. If he learned the truth…The way he would look at her then…the disgust and contempt... It was already hard enough enduring the pity and worry that constantly filled his eyes now. Pity was for weak people, and she couldn't afford to be weak. Couldn't let those around her learn what she'd done to survive, the depths she'd sunk to. Had to handle it on her own. Regardless of what they _said_, she didn't really believe they wouldn't condemn her. And once they realized the truth… Well, what life she had carved out aboard Galactica would be wiped away more thoroughly than any Cylon attack.

All she had to do was get Laura off her back, convince the Admiral and Cottle she was fit for duty…and avoid Lee. Sounded easy.

_Right. Might as well try to fly without my Viper. _

The knock announcing Cally's arrival pulled her from her dark musings. And if Cally and the Chief noticed how subdued she was throughout her shift and lunch, they kept it to themselves.

That afternoon, again the training manuals weren't enough to distract her as she searched for some way to get out from underneath the smothering _help _of those around her. If she had been willing to admit such a thing to herself, it was the overwhelming fear of how vulnerable she'd allowed herself to be the night before with Laura that drove her today.

Fear. Vulnerability. Weakness. They all were to be sneered at in others, and despised within herself.

Starbuck had known once how to control her anger, use it to keep everything else at bay, give her the strength to handle whatever she faced. She'd lost that control on New Caprica, now if only she could regain it…things could go back to how they'd been before. Well, maybe not _exactly_. There was no way to erase the knowledge already learned by the others in her life. But they were familiar with Starbuck, so if she could show them that the Viper Jock was back and in control, they'd leave off demanding to know Kara's secrets. And her shame need never destroy what little she had left.

That evening at dinner, she forced a lightness to her voice and tried to recapture the ease of the previous night. She hadn't resolved all the details, but she knew she had to convince Adama and Laura that she was over the worst, stop them from digging further. And that started by eating her food like a good little pilot and discussing the day's events. And if the Admiral wasn't convinced by her about-face, at least he seemed more relaxed and willing to humor her.

They were just finishing when he wiped his mouth with a napkin and cleared his throat, immediately setting her on alert.

"Laura will be over a little later this evening, she had a dinner meeting," he said, and she shifted uncomfortably as he brought up the President. "Why don't we look over your preliminary ideas on the update to the nuggets' training," he suggested. Then added, "If you don't mind a Old Man's viewpoint, that is."

"Sure…I didn't get much done this afternoon. I _can _show you a couple of areas that need some pretty drastic revisions though," she answered, eager to shift the topic from her upcoming session. She rose and moved to the workbench with the Admiral right behind her.

The next couple of hours passed harmoniously enough, Starbuck getting into her subject as she laid out an idea she'd been toying with. The Admiral listened carefully as she pointed out several ways to simulate the all-out chaos that was combat, then they swapped ideas and suggestions, brainstorming together over different options. Sometime later, both looked up with startled glances when the guard announced the President's arrival.

"Well, that's my cue," he said, giving her a smile as he stepped away to welcome Laura with his usual greeting before excusing himself.

[ I I I I I ]

"Kara," said Laura as she inspected the younger woman. Something was different… And it stirred an uneasy premonition on the ex-school teacher part. There was a determined and yet elusiveness to Kara's expression as she returned Laura's greeting and took her seat. Laura had hoped that after last night, she had finally broken through Starbuck's reserve. It certainly had felt like they'd made a breakthrough of sorts. That Kara had willingly accepted the comfort and help Laura offered.

Now though…

Taking a breath, she decided to dive right in, figuring she'd learn what Starbuck was up to soon enough.

"Last night, you were telling me that Leoben was going to take care of you," she started, then, "What did he mean by that?"

"Simple enough. He switched from withholding food to force-feeding," the answer was flatly said and Laura narrowed her eyes.

"Force-fed you? Is that all?" Laura probed, perplexed at the disparity between Kara's reaction last night and today.

"Well, it wasn't exactly pleasant. He laced it with something to prevent me from vomiting afterwards," explained Kara in a voice still leached of all emotion. "Guess that's why I was sick. I couldn't vomit before. This time I could…and-and did," she added lamely.

Now Laura _really _knew something was off. There was no way Kara should be this calm. Trying again, "So he force-fed you. How?"

"Had a couple of Centurions hold me while he used a tube," said Kara, maintaining a steady gaze with Laura's skeptically eyes.

"Ok, Kara," Laura said, letting it go for now. She decided to move ahead. "How long did Leoben force-feed you?"

"Twice a day, for four days, I think," came the brief answer.

"And after that?"

"He moved me back to the apartment. And then you were there." The look Starbuck gave her made it apparent that she still hadn't fully forgiven Laura for her perceived 'betrayal' that day.

Laura sat back, contemplating what she'd been told now and before. There seemed to be quite a number of days—closer to two weeks—missing from the timeline, and she didn't see how the force-feeding could have triggered the catatonic state Laura had found Kara in when they'd been together in the apartment. Kara had already admitted to losing time. Was this another instance of exactly that? Everything in Laura told her that Kara was purposely withholding something. It was there in the way her eyes shifted to her left wrist when she didn't think Laura was watching, and in the uncharacteristic lack of emotion in her retelling. Question was, did Kara even know what it was? Was she hiding what had happened or the fact that she didn't remember what had occurred in that missing block of time?

She would have accepted anger or defiance from Starbuck, fear or…something else from Kara. But this attempt to relate the events without a hint of either? No. There was more here, and Laura wasn't going to let it go.

"Kara, did Leoben rape you?" she asked bluntly, hoping to shock the truth from the younger woman. She saw the green eyes widen in surprise, then narrow with the first hint of anger she'd seen in them today.

"_Frakkin' no!" _ was startled out of Starbuck and she was on the edge of her seat now, looking ready to bolt…or attack.

Cautiously studying her, Laura was troubled. Her surprised answer seemed genuine, but there was something in the way Kara replied that struck her as odd. Despite Laura's assumption that Leoben had raped her while having her in his control, Kara's straight forward denial had the ring of truth to it. The younger woman meant what she said. And yet… Laura had been convinced she knew what secret had been hiding behind Starbuck's bluster and Kara's panic attacks. Now she just didn't know what to think.

"If we're done, Madam President, I owe Major Adama a session in the gym," Starbuck said, interrupting Laura's thoughts. "I've got to do the rehab exercises Cottle gave me so I can get back in the air," she added, rising to her feet and moving towards the hatch in an obvious attempt to end the session.

Laura decided she needed time to think before confronting Kara any further, so she left without any comment on Starbuck's avoidance tactics.


	68. Chapter 68 Simulation

Chapter 68 Simulation

After letting herself be ushered from the Admiral's quarters, Laura asked her guide to take her to see Dr. Cottle. She had intended on seeking him out before meeting with Kara, but since she'd been so late, she had decided against it. Now she really needed an impartial sounding board, one with which she could share more details than she dared with the Admiral. Besides, Bill would be so eager to believe that Kara had not been sexually assaulted that he'd hardly be receptive to her insistence that something was wrong about Starbuck's story.

She found the doctor writing up charts in his office, which was ideal from her perspective. She hadn't wanted to pull him away from any patients. He rose as at her knock and entry.

"Madam President, are you feeling Ok?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she answered, then getting to straight to the point of the visit, "I need to discuss Captain Thrace."

His nod acknowledged that he wasn't surprised by her visit.

"Have a seat," waving her to one of the sturdy chairs.

Perching on the edge of the seat, Laura considered how to begin. Deciding that the doctor was one person that had to know as much as possible about what Kara had related, she took a deep breath and launched into an in depth recounting of her sessions. The white-haired physician stopped her frequently with questions, and for her observations or opinions throughout. He was silent a long time after she finished with her suspicion that Kara was leaving out something significant in her story. In fact, he had finished one cigarette and lit another before Laura got impatient enough to interrupt his thoughts.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I agree. She's still hiding something," Cottle snuffed his half-finished cigarette in the bedpan before he continued, "The force-feeding intrigues me, though. I think you've underestimated how traumatic she may have found that experience," he said.

"She certainly had a strong physical reaction prior to telling me about it," Laura admitted, still not seeing how the woman that had handled all the other physical abuse could find something like force-feeding traumatic.

"So, all she said about it was that this Leoben had Centurions hold her while he tubed her?" the doctor asked. At her nod, he stood and waved for her to follow him out to the ward.

Spotting his assistant, Ishay, he called her over. "I have a rather extreme favor to ask of you," he said. "It's not likely to be particularly pleasant, but I need some help getting a woman's perspective on something," At his assistant's raised eyebrows, the continued, "It's to help Captain Thrace. I'm trying to get a grasp on how the Cylons may have gone about force-feeding her…and how she might have felt about it." He saw the dark-haired nurse shift uncomfortably as she started to pick up on what he wanted. "Would you be willing to lay on the floor and play her part while we recreate the force-feeding?"

Laura was as surprised by the doctor's proposal as his assistant. It seemed wrong to ask the woman to agree to this experiment. After all, Kara was _her _responsibility, not the nurse's.

"Dr. Cottle, if anyone should do this, it should be m—" Laura started to say, but was interrupted as the nurse spoke up.

"No. No. Madam President. We couldn't let you do that," Ishay firmly protested. "I'll do it. I can't say I'm comfortable with the idea. But…after everything those damn Toasters did to Captain Thrace… Well, if this might help her, than I can handle it," she said, though Laura noticed her give a slight grimace as she turned to the doctor. "What do you want we to do, Sir?"

"If you'd show the President into exam three, I'll be right with you two," he instructed. Laura, looking over her shoulder as she followed the nurse, saw Cottle gesturing to a pair of young Marines and an orderly.

As the four men joined the two women in the suddenly crowded room, the men appeared nearly as uncomfortable as his assistant once Cottle explained what he wanted from them. Directing Ishay to lay on the floor, he asked the two soldiers how they'd go about restraining someone in order to force-feed them. The men looked uncertainly at each other, and the orderly clearly wanted to be any place but that room.

Finally, Laura spoke to the room in general, "I realize how uncomfortable this is for everyone. Consider how you would assist the doctor if he had a fevered patient that needed restraint while he bandaged her face," Laura said, trying to put the exercise in terms these people might relate to.

"Um. Ok, I suppose someone would need to secure her, keep her from getting up," Corporal Tramley reluctantly volunteered. He hesitantly stepped a foot over Ishay's prone body and awkwardly knelt to straddle her. Looking to her for permission, he leaned forward, placing his hands on her forearms, then, with a shake of his head, repositioned them up high on her biceps, nearly at her shoulders and leaned his weight onto them.

It was apparent to Laura that having the rather large guard holding her down was making the woman very anxious, she kept flexing her fingers and her eyes were wide in her pale face. But she didn't tell the Marine to get off. And when she met Laura's questioning stare, the nurse gave a small nod to continue.

"What now, Corporal?" Laura said, directing the uncomfortable guard to think about what had to be done, the quicker to get through this.

"Patterson, uh, you hold her head, like the doc's got to clean up a scalp wound," the Marine ordered. They watched as the younger man took his position at Ishay's head and placed his hands on either side of her forehead before looking at the older Marine for approval. "Yeah, that way the doc can work without her messing up his neat sutures," Tramley said, obviously determined to focus on a hypothetical medical situation he could wrap his head around. "Guess we're ready for you, Sir," he added, looking to Cottle.

Laura hadn't missed Ishay's brief flash of panic as the youngest Marine had gripped her head. Her own unease escalated as the doctor turned to his orderly and gave the man a measuring look before saying, "Paul, if you would very gently force this into her mouth, please," and handed the man an intubation tube.

"You want me to intubate her, Sir?" the orderly demanded.

"No, just get it into her mouth. That's all," Cottle said.

Laura glanced from the orderly's set face to Ishay's as the man approached her. As the orderly knelt at the nurse's head, she saw the moment when Ishay's panic erupted to the surface and she began thrashing against the men that held her down.

"That's enough," Cottle gruffly called out, above Ishay's rising yells for them to get off her. All three men fell away as quickly as they could, scrambling to their feet, chagrin and shame flaming their faces. Ishay also wasted no time climbing to her own feet. She instinctively backed away from the group and only stopped when she felt the wall at her back.

Laura quickly moved to the nurse's side, stepping between her and her view of the men. "Ishay, it's Ok. We're done," she soothingly said, taking one of the woman's cold hands in hers, and pulling the dark eyes to hers. "I'm sorry. This was a bad idea. We shouldn't have put you through this."

"No-no… I just panicked. I-I knew they wouldn't hurt me, but…" the nurse trailed off.

"I understand. I didn't before, but I do now," Laura said, giving the hand she held a squeeze. "We have a better idea of how Kara probably reacted when the Cylons did the same to her."

When Ishay shut her eyes, Laura guessed that she, like Laura, was envisioning how Kara must have felt having the Cylons hold her and force a tube down her throat. The loss of control, the feeling of the weight restraining her and knowing that she couldn't get free.

Then Ishay opened her eyes and gave a tentative smile, meeting Laura's worried gaze.

"I'm fine, really."

"I know you are. Again, thank you for your cooperation." Laura gave the nurse a last squeeze of gratitude, then turned to give Cottle a glare that told him they had words to exchange.

The physician excused the men, and gave Ishay his own apology before following the President from the exam room and back to his office.

"Was that really necessary, Doctor?" Laura demanded once the door was shut.

"You tell me, Madam President," he shot back, "You didn't seem to think that Captain Thrace would have found force-feeding anything more than an unpleasant experience. What about now?"

"Is this really the answer? Was the force-feeding _that_ traumatic?" Laura demanded, pacing about the small room, too agitated to sit. Her own emotions stirred just by witnessing the nurse's response.

"I'd have to say, yes…and no," Cottle answered, automatically lighting a cigarette. He took a strong pull on it, before meeting Laura's glare. "What I mean is, yes, that to Starbuck it probably had all the components of…well, of a sexual assault." Mashing his cigarette into the pan, "Damnitall, I hate this type of thing. Give me a gapping abdominal wound any day of the week," he said, rubbing at his eyes.

Staring at the doctor, Laura echoed his sentiment. "Ok. We agree that her reaction _could_ be explained by the force-feedings. What did you mean by _no_, then?"

Cottle grimaced, then explained, "Just when I think I've heard the last of what those bastards did to her, I learn of something else." His eyes narrowed as he met her gaze. "Do we believe that the Cylon did nothing else during their time together? If she reacted this strongly to the force-feeding…" he trailed off, the implication of what he hadn't said obvious.

"Yet this fits with what I said about believing her denials," Laura pointed out, knowing she was still hoping that Leoben hadn't gone further, as unlikely as that was.

Dr. Cottle took a minute before answering, when he did, he kept his gaze averted from her. "What does rape mean to you? You personally, as a female?" he asked.

Laura felt her own anxiety ramping up as she gave his question some real thought. What was rape? Forced copulation or…maybe not seeing any options except acquiescence in relation to sexual demands. Would Kara reason that rape was not rape unless she said no…or fought? What if she was put in a situation where she didn't fight Leoben, would she still recognize the coercion that made the act rape?

Perhaps not.

"What if…" she started, but had to pause before trying again, "What if Kara didn't fight, didn't resist Leoben's sexual advances. If, for some reason, she chose not to or couldn't fight him, do you believe she wouldn't identify that she was still raped?"

"Now that's the question, isn't it," the doctor said, having reached the same conclusion. "Considering her dysfunctional childhood, growing up believing that she only got what she deserved, I'd be surprised if she _could _perceive the act as anything other than consensual if, like you're suggesting, she didn't try to fight him off. And…if she thinks she consented, that girl's bound to be all tied up with guilt and shame over it."

"We need a professional to handle this," Laura said, feeling despair shriveling her resolve. She looked over at the elderly physician, wondering what were the chances Kara would discuss any of this with Cottle. He shook his head at her, easily reading the direction of her thoughts. Well, guess she'd have to muddle on as she had been, and hope for the best, she decided.

"Ok, I have some idea of what we might be facing. How to proceed now? She completely shut me down tonight," Laura told the doctor.

"Starbuck's a very physical woman," he mused, mostly to himself, but continued aloud, "If she's trying to avoid an issue, she gets practically monosyllabic. Forcing her into a physical confrontation won't allow her to suppress it. Course, who's ever on the receiving end is likely to need my services afterwards," he added with a grim chuckle.

Laura wondered if striking a match to the tinderbox called Starbuck was such a hot idea. Not that she had any better suggestions, she mentally admitted.

"Do you have someone in mind," Laura cautiously asked.

"I had a brief talk with Captain Agathon this morning. Seems she's angry at him for his part in pulling her out of her earlier funk," Cottle said. "He's a powerful man, I'm sure he could handle her if prepared," he said with a suggestive eyebrow.

"You're actually recommending I instigate a physical confrontation between Kara and Captain Agathon? That sounds highly reckless, Doctor," she protested.

"A controlled explosion can be a useful tool, Madam President," he stated. "Take into account as many variables as possible, set the fuse and see what happens," Cottle said, sounding more like a munitions expert than a do-no-harm physician.

Then again…maybe the doctor had a point.


	69. Chapter 69 Groundwork

Chapter 69 Groundwork

With a tilt of the head towards the wardroom, the President requested the Admiral to accompany her.

Without preamble, Laura launched into the reason for her visit, "I've spoken with Dr. Cottle and we're agreed that Kara's still suppressing something significant. We've an idea on how to confront her on it, and you're not going to like, Bill," she said, crossing her arms.

"She's much better today," he protested, then corrected himself, "at least over dinner."

Laura could see that he was trying to deny Kara had just been putting on an act for his benefit. And she couldn't allow it.

"No, Bill. She isn't," Laura contradicted, "While Starbuck's trying to convince us that she's fine, that there's nothing else to _report_, Kara's shutting down again," she explained to the granite-faced man.

"You talking like she's got split personalities," he stated.

"Not true multiple personalities…but in a sense she _is_ two people," Laura slowly stated, working through this, not having given it much thought before now. "Starbuck is a part of her that she developed to handle the abuse, both physical and emotional, that her mother subjected her to as a child."

"Starbuck's her call sign. How could it be something she made up as a child," he pointed out.

"I think that her Starbuck persona's existed for a long time, she just finally got a name tacked on her," Giving the military man an appraising look, "And you've always respected Starbuck. The hotshot, hot-headed Viper pilot," she challenged. "It's no surprise that she's suppressed Kara and rarely let's that part of herself be seen. Kara personifies the little girl who learned that those that were suppose to love her, would either hurt her badly or leave."

Adama barely kept himself from flinching as he remembered Kara's accusation that he was just like her parents. He forced his attention back to Laura as she continued.

"I believe that it's the responsibility of that internal Kara part to hold all the hurt inside and let the Starbuck persona convert it to anger as needed." Laura paused, then went on with her premise, "She's managed to at least function by maintaining this balance between the two halves of herself. New Caprica changed all that. What she went through there was too much even for the tag team of Starbuck and Kara. That balance was broken, and now Kara's pain and Starbuck's anger are both out of control."

Bill bowed his head as he considered all Laura had said. It made sense. Certainly explained the contradiction he'd always found confusing about his temperamental pilot and his attachment to her. He unwillingly acknowledged that he'd always been drawn to Starbuck's strong, cocky ways, seeing a bit of himself in the young pilot, a part he didn't see in the overly controlled Lee or his youngest son, whose demeanor always had seemed just a little bit desperate. It had definitely been easier to fit Starbuck into his life as a surrogate 'son'. But what about Kara. As much as he might want to deny it, Kara was never his 'son'. She was a young woman with a complete past she'd kept hidden from him.

"Ok, so we help her restore this 'balance'," he finally said.

"It's not really enough to go back to the status quo, Bill," disagreed Laura with a headshake. "We know too much, and she's been through too much, for her original coping mechanism to just take over again," she explained. "Kara needs to learn how to deal with these experiences, from both New Caprica and those that came before. She needs to learn how to merge the two parts of herself. To become the whole woman she deserves to be. And it's up to us to help her do that."

Taking a breath, Laura straightened and said, "Which brings us back to now. Kara let me in last night, but she's stonewalling again today. She's sent Starbuck out to protect her—to mislead us—and we can't let her," Laura firmly stated. The dark-haired woman took a brief walk around the room, trying to find the necessary words.

Stopping again before the Admiral, she adjusted her glasses before saying, "Cottle and I believe a more direct approach is necessary to pull her out of the hole she's dug. I want Captain Agathon to meet with you and me for a strategy session tomorrow. At which time, I'll explain his part in tomorrow night's session." The Admiral's heavy brows rose at this, but he didn't interrupt her as she continued. "Captain Thrace will be escorted to the gym after dinner, believing that she's meeting with Major Adama for a workout. Captain Agathon and I will be there and force a confrontation in a controlled environm—"

Now Adama did interrupt, "No. Absolutely not!"

"Yes. It's necessary, and I have a plan," she stated with the steely authority she'd developed as a teacher, long before becoming President. "Captain Agathon is physically capable of handling Kara. He's also a personal friend, and one already partially briefed on her issues. In fact, he's the ideal choice as far as I can see."

"And how is Helo suppose to _confront_ her? You expect him to what…threaten her?"

"Not threaten, but goad her. Push her in a setting where she'll respond physically. Dr. Cottle called it a controlled explosion. And that's exactly what we need to do…blast her out of hiding," she explained, and then reached up to lightly grasp the craggy face between her palms. "You trusted me enough to start this. Trust me a little further," she appealed to the worried blue eyes.

Beats of their hearts passed before he put his hands over hers, and she felt the warmth of his cheeks beneath her palms. He grasped her hands and gently lowering them from his face, but didn't release his hold.

"Ok. We do it your way," he conceded, with a small grimace. "And Gods help us if you're wrong." He gave a sigh before asking, "What do you expect to learn from her? Do you have any idea."

"We have some theories, but I'd prefer not to go into them now. Better to see what Kara has to say," Laura said, wanting to put off sharing what the doctor and she suspected may have happened between Kara and the Cylon male.

"Right… What time do you want to meet with Captain Agathon?"

"Sometime before lunch, if possible. I've other obligations earlier and need to arrange a few meetings that can happen here on Galactica in the afternoon," she answered, running through her schedule in her head.

"I'll arrange it with Helo," he said, then added, "and also make sure you have a gym to yourselves in the evening."

"Contact Tory with the time and location, and I'll see you tomorrow." She gave his hands a last squeeze before making her departure.


	70. Chapter 70 Bottled Up

Chapter 70 Bottled Up

After Laura had left, Kara realized that she had forgotten to have Lee called to the quarters. She decided to skip the gym tonight. Instead, she scooped up one of the Admiral's open bottles and, ignoring Corporal Paulson's concerned look, swallowed the doctor's little gift with several long swigs directly from the container.

_With any luck, I'll be dead to the world before anyone comes looking for me. _

She felt a slightly hysterical giggle try to surge out at the wording of her thoughts. Well, maybe not _dead_ to the world. But the world certainly was determined to go on without her. _Good riddance, _she thought. Then, _better get myself into my rack. Not so good the Old Man finding me sprawled across his carpet snoring like the drunken sailor I am._ Putting actions to her thoughts. She returned the still mostly full bottle to the bar and managed to get ready and settled onto the sofa before the pull of the medication and liquor sucked her under.

[ I I I I I ]

She was out cold and oblivious when Lee stopped by later to check on her. He quietly ordered the Marine guard from the cabin and stood watching Kara sleep as he had the prior night. Noting the pill vial on the table near her head and the faint reek of alcohol wafting from her, he wasn't surprised that she hadn't roused at his arrival. He could only hope she hadn't drank too much in combination with the medication. And first thing he'd done was to check that most of the pills were still in the bottle. He'd had the image of him calling Cottle to pump her stomach and breathed a sign of relief that it wasn't going to be necessary.

Determined not to fall asleep again, he settled onto the workbench stool and reviewed what she'd been working on. The difficult to read notes hurt his tired eyes, but he was astonished at some of the ideas she was proposing, wondering why no one had considered them before.

His father found him hunched over the desk, adding his own careful annotations to the ones she had scrawled. He automatically looked over to make sure the sleeping form hadn't moved during his preoccupation before rising to greet his dad.

"How'd it go at the gym?" Adama asked as he pulled his shoes off.

"It didn't," Lee answered, then as his dad looked up with questioning eyes, "She was passed out cold when I got here. Taken the sleeping pill with a chaser," he added by way of explanation.

The elder Adama pushed himself back to his feet, unbuttoning the flap of his jacket as he acknowledged that Laura was right. Kara was in hiding. This was just another way she'd found to avoid Lee and himself. He removed the garment, draping it over the back of his chair before turning to his waiting son.

"Tomorrow, Laura and Helo are going to be taking Kara to the gym instead of you," he informed the younger man. As Lee abruptly straightened, a protest already forming on his lips, his father cut him off with raised hands. "Listen to me. This has nothing to do with you. Laura has something she wants to try with Helo," his father firmly said.

"And why can't I do it instead? Why Helo?" Lee demanded. Anger building at being denied at each turn in Kara's care.

"I'm not sure," the Admiral admitted, "but it probably has to do with what Laura thinks Kara's likely to reveal," he said, then started to say more but his son interrupted.

"All the more reason for it to be me," Lee adamantly said. "I need to help her, and she needs me. I know it," a note of pleading leaking into his voice.

Laying a hand on his son's shoulder, Adama gave a shake of his head, "This can't be about what you need, Lee," he said. "And for what Kara needs to share… It'll be too hard. Too hard for her to tell you…and for you to hear." Then as Lee shook his head in denial. "That's why I'm not going to be there either. This is about Leoben and what happened between them on that rock. Kara's got to face it herself before we can ask her to share it with us," his dad explained, giving Lee's shoulder a slight shake. "We're too close, son."

Turning away from his father's understanding face, Lee looked over to the lightly snoring figure. His stomach twisted at what his father was suggesting. He wanted to grab a Raptor and go find the son of a bitch that had caused all this.

Since the focus of his anger was out of reach, he turned it on the only one he could. "Fine. I get it. We frakked up and made matters worse when she came back. Well, that's just your style, isn't it dad?" he quietly flung at the older man. "Never there when your family needs you," he accused, shaking the hand away. "Guess this is just one more of example of you showing how much you care," Lee tossed over his shoulder as he stormed from the cabin.

Understanding why his son reacted the way he did didn't take much of the sting from his words, especially since Bill knew they were justified. He tiredly moved to stand over the sleeping form. With a gentle finger, he brushed a stray blonde lock from the relaxed face. Bending over, he placed a feather-light kiss on her forehead. Straightening again, he vaguely wondered how much an old heart could take before it finally crumbled.

Trying to shake off the bleak feeling, he reminded himself that they still had a fighting chance to repair what had been broken. Both in Kara herself and the relationships they shared.

Keeping that belief held close, he headed to bed.


	71. Chapter 71 Strategy Session

Chapter 71 Strategy Session

When Karl entered the Admiral's quarters as ordered, he was surprised to find the President also waiting.

"Sir. Madam President," he formally greeted each of them, wondering why they'd called him in, but patience was a virtue his mom had drummed into his skull throughout his youth, so he just stood at attention, knowing that the pair would enlighten him in their own good time.

"At ease, Captain." Then the Admiral, waving towards one of three chairs, ordered, "Have a seat."

Karl's gaze went between the Old Man and the politician as they took the other two. He couldn't help worrying that this meeting might bode ill for his wife. The Admiral's next words dispelled that concern.

"It's about Starbuck. We need your help, Helo," Adama said.

"Of course, Sir," he quickly responded. "Anything I can do."

"Don't sound so eager. What we're asking will be no easy task," cautioned Adama. "I'm going to let Laura explain what she expects of you."

Karl was surprised that the Admiral had used the President's first name, then realized that it was because this was a personal matter, not a fleet one. He gave a nod to the woman to indicate that she had his full attention.

"Captain—may I call you Helo?" at his second nod, she continued, "This evening Kara will go to the gym. She won't know it beforehand, but you'll be waiting for her. I want you to get her engaged in some light, gym-like exercises," Laura said with a vague wave of her hand that had both men suppressing slight smiles despite the gravity of the conversation. Not noticing their amusement at her unfamiliarity on workout activities, she continued, "I'll arrive and leave my guards outside."

Karl spoke up, "She'll know it's a setup."

"Yes, she will. But at that point, it's up to you to prevent her from leaving."

"Ok, so we've got her in the gym. Then what?"

"We're going to push her…push her hard. Be prepared for her to push back, probably violently," Laura stated, leveling serious eyes at the young man.

The Admiral spoke up, drawing Karl's gaze, "You _must _remain in control, Helo. Starbuck fights dirty and she's likely to go at you with anything she can think of," he said through thinned lips. "She's going to use Sharon to goad you, and she'll come after you when she's convinced that her only way out is through you."

"Can you do this?" Laura asked. "Can you hear whatever Kara says, and rather than take it personally, listen for what she's trying to hide?" At his solemn nod, she added, "Because that's what all this is about. Forcing her to reveal a secret. One that she'll do practically anything not to have us know and, as a result, not have to face herself."

"Excuse me, Sir. But it sounds like you already have an idea what this 'secret' might be?" Karl asked, not liking the way the Old Man paled beneath his darker skin and averted his eyes.

"You're familiar with the Cylon male, Leoben?"

"Kara mentioned him when we were on Caprica."

Laura continued, "The doctor and I believe that while in Leoben's custody, something happened to her…something of a sexual nature," she said flatly. Helo's expression turned grim. "Kara denied it when I asked. And here is where it gets complicated. I think she was likely raped, but _she_ doesn't _believe_ that she was." She paused as both men flinched at the bald word. "Whatever happened, I believeKara may have blocked it. She's already admitted to gaps in her memory. It's also possible that she might believe that _whatever_ happened was consensual."

"But if she can't remember?"

"Won't. Not can't," Laura corrected, giving him an evaluating look, then said "Look at me, Helo." As he raised his troubled gaze to hers, she continued. "Kara was subjected to months of isolation and torture, her husband murdered in front of her, nourishment withheld and then force-fed when Leoben realized she'd rather die than give in to him," she summarized.

"Kara's strong. She wouldn't just—" he broke off as Laura raised her hand.

"Again, I _believe _that something happened that pushed her beyond her ability to cope. Our job is to find out what that something was, and what happened afterwards." Searching his eyes again, she asked, "Can you understand the difference between coercion and consent, Helo?"

He didn't immediately answer as he worked his way through what she had implied and reached the conclusion she already had.

"Yes. Yes, I get it. But you don't think Kara can, do you?"

Laura's grim regard was answer enough and Karl dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers along his scalp, trying to deal with the anger and pain at what had been done to his best friend.

Lifting his gaze, "Gods, I just want to hit something," he muttered.

"So say we all," the Admiral spoke up.

"And that's exactly what you have to control, Helo," Laura said. "Can you keep your own anger and disgust under control? Because Starbuck's not even going to try. And you can't let her take you down that road. This fight won't be won with fists, though I expect it to probably begin that way."

Karl looked inward at himself. Did he have the strength—the courage—to do what they'd asked of him? The resolve to keep his emotions from overpowering his mission? As he looked at the choices he'd made since the invasion, emotion had been a guiding factor for him, but he'd always found the fortitude necessary to balance it with his duty. In a weird way, his situation with Sharon had given him plenty of practice at not letting others get under his skin.

So, when he met the evaluating eyes of the man and woman before him, he confidently answered, "Yes, I can."

[ I I I I I ]

Entering the mess, Karl's searching gaze located his wife's profile in line. He took his place, but barely noticed what items he chose. His mind kept replaying his meeting with the Admiral and the President. They had talked further, discussing possible scenarios to try before settling on a tentative plan. Now, taking his seat beside the woman he loved, he returned a brief smile to her greeting before dropping his gaze to the food on the tray before him.

He felt Sharon's questioning eyes on him as he forced a few mouthfuls down to quiet the rumblings of his stomach. It didn't make sense that he could possibly be hungry when he felt nauseous. Karl made a point of chewing slowly to keep conversation to a minimum as he scooped up another forkful of some nameless hash. He mumbled occasional responses to Sharon's attempts at drawing him out. After getting down half his plate of rations, he rose to leave, only to have Sharon stop him with a hand on his arm.

"What's wrong, Karl?" she demanded in a low voice. "And don't try to tell me nothing. I know you too well."

"Not here," his muttered reply.

"Fine. Then we'll go find some place more suitable," she said and followed him out.

Finding an isolated corridor, Karl turned to face his wife's worried look. "I'm meeting Kara tonight, at the gym," he said.

"And?"

"The Admiral and President want me to talk to her, and probably more. They didn't choose the gym by random."

"I don't like it. You said it yourself, she's still angry at you because of Kacey. And then there's me," she said, not needing to explain further. When he looked away, she reached out and took his hand, pulling his gaze back to her. "Besides, why does it have to be you?"

Giving her hand a squeeze, "I _want _to do this, Sharon. Kara's my best friend next to you," he said, giving her a hurt look, not sure why she was being so resistant. "Gods, if you knew what those Cylon bastards did to her."

As she visibly winced, Karl took her other hand in his, too. "Look, Sharon. They were bastards, the things they did…and they're Cylons. That's all I meant."

Pulling from his grip, "Right, Helo," she sarcastically replied.

"Come on, Sharon. You know what I meant," he quietly said. He held her eyes until she nodded her acceptance, then released a hand to tip her delicate chin up with a finger and asked, "What's this really about?"

Her gaze darted away then back to his. "Kara came to see me—_you_—one night before her breakdown," she paused as he dropped his hand in surprise. Taking a breath, she went on, "She was drunk, _really_ drunk, and rambling." She pulled away and took a step back, wrapping her arms across her chest. "Gods, Karl. I've never seen her like that…so full of rage and..." she trailed off with a shudder.

Watching his usually stoic wife react, Karl knew she hadn't told him all. Stepping close, he gently gripped her arms and bent his head to catch her eyes.

"And what? What did she do?"

"Like I said, she was drunk, and you know Starbuck can be a mean drunk," Sharon said, obviously reluctant to go into details. Karl wasn't having it, though, as his narrowed gaze told her. With a resigned sigh, she continued, "She tried to kill me, Ok? Tried to strangle me." As his eyes widened, she hurried on, "I'm not even sure she knew who I was right then, Karl. She was going on about _them_. Besides, I can handle myself, especially against someone as staggeringly soused as she was that night."

Karl tried to tamp down his anger. It was hard though. Suddenly he had doubts about his ability to control himself with Kara. Her attack on Sharon came as a shock and he found all the pent-up resentment at people's treatment since their rescue from Caprica abruptly spilling forth.

"Frak. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I should have told you. I just didn't want you to feel you had to choose between us, is all."

Pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Kara's important to me, but it wouldn't be any contest. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know that," she said, giving him a look now that stirred feelings other than anger. As their lips met, he forgot everything else until they broke apart, and he grinned down at her.

"Proof enough?"

"Good proof," she said, returning his grin, then sobered again. "Karl, don't let what happened between me and Kara change your mind about helping her." At his raised eyebrows at her abrupt reversal, "Like you said, she's important to you. To a lot of people on Galactica. If you can help her, you should."

He searched her gaze, seeing only sincerity and concern. Rubbing a hand along his jaw as he said, "Kara's never been a particularly stable person, and I've found out more about her these past weeks than the entire time I've known her," he paused, trying to decided how much he could share of the confidential information he'd learned about his friend, then decided Sharon was owned an explanation—even if others might not think so—he did. "From what Doc Cottle told us, Kara's lucky to have survived her childhood. She was physically abused by her mother, probably emotionally too, since they usually go together from what I understand," he grimly said and noted the widening of the dark eyes across from him.

After a quick glance around to make sure that they were still alone, he continued, "Then came New Caprica… She was tortured, Sharon. And I don't mean a few beatings. I'm talking about systematic torture, and that's just what the President has managed to get out of her."

He leaned his forehead against hers to prevent anyone else from possibly overhearing him, but mostly for the comfort of her touch as he forced the rest out past his constricted throat, "The President believes that more was done to her…and that she's suppressing it. And that it's related to Leoben, the one she interrogated here on Galactica. He's apparently obsessed with Kara and…" he had to swallow twice before finishing, "…and he might have raped her."

Sharon jerked back, her hand flying to her mouth. Karl knew she was recalling the attack by the men from the Pegasus. He saw her shake her head, either in denial or to dispel the memory. He pulled her into his shoulder, rubbing her back in circles as he murmured reassurances in her ear.

After a minute, she pulled apart again and, at his concerned stare, nodded that she was ok.

"Look, Kara's been hurt worse than any of us knew," he said. "You're right, I can't say no. Not if there's _anything_ I can do to help her."

Giving him the smile he had come to cherish more than his life, she said, "Anything we can do, we will."

* * *

A/N: Sorry only one chapter tonight. The next one's tough and I'm still wrestling with getting it right. Should have it and several more posted Saturday am.

** As always - reviews let me know you're out there and still reading ;^) Cons/crit really appreciated since I'm trying to improve my storytelling ability. So, feel free to drop me a note, comment, helpful suggestion, encouraging word... or whatever :)


	72. Chapter 72 Shackled Mind

Chapter 67 Shackled Mind

That evening at dinner, the Admiral told Kara that she was to be escorted to the gym since she'd missed the previous night's workout. Since he didn't mention the President, she decided not to ask, figuring that maybe Laura had believed that there wasn't any more need for her.

She certainly hoped so.

As Sergeant Paulson shut the gym hatch behind her, choosing to wait outside, Kara realized that the room already had an occupant working out off in the corner where, on entering, she hadn't seem him. She moved around the bag, expecting Lee. When she recognized Helo's tall form, she literally stopped in mid-step, then put the foot down behind her, hoping to quietly leave before he noticed her.

"Hey there, Starbuck," Helo called out, stopping her backwards retreat. She watched him through narrowed eyes as he wiped his face with a workout towel then made his way over, flashing her one of his goofy grins as he did.

"What are you doing here, Helo?" she coldly asked.

"Glad to see you, too," he said, his tone light despite her chilly greeting. He noted the anger simmering in her eyes, and knew that getting her responding to him obviously wasn't going to be an issue. Now, controlling that response was another matter and he reminded himself that it was his job to direct Kara in the way they had planned.

So, he'd better get started.

"Lee couldn't make it tonight and the Doc gave orders for you to get a light workout in," he smoothly lied.

"No thanks. I'll come back later," she said, turning to leave.

"Ah, come on Kara. Just some bag work." Seeing her hesitate, he went on, "Hey, you can pretend it's me, ok? Less painful for both of us. Come on. Unless you're afraid," he added, hoping to goad her with the one taunt he'd seen her unable to resist in so many past bar fights. As she reversed her direction, he knew he had her. Well, at least so far.

He waved her over to where he was grabbing a pair of heavier bag gloves in her size. She seemed to debate a moment before silently holding out her hands for him to slip a glove onto each, and just as silently, he laced them up. He'd chosen a pair of the type that had laces and paid more care than usual to making sure that both were tightly and securely tied before giving them a bop on top signaling that she was ready to go.

Throughout the few minutes it took to don the mitts, Kara had kept her gaze firmly on her hands, yet she'd been intensely aware of the man before her. She was studying her own emotions in regards to Helo, and they perplexed her. Their friendship pre-dated even hers with Lee. They had completed Basic Flight together, and had even managed to keep in touch afterwards despite being assign on distance duty stations. Then, she remembered how happy she'd been on discovering that Helo had been transferred to Galactica shortly after she had joined the crew herself.

All those good memories vied with the more recent ones; his using Kacey against her; his protecting the mother of his child on Caprica when they'd met up at the museum in her search for the Arrow of Apollo; his defending Sharon after Kara's rescue from the 'Farm'; and his continuing defense of his Cylon wife after the fleet's exodus from New Caprica. So many of her reasons for anger at her long time pal traced back to his frakkin' Toaster wife.

His frakking his Toaster wife.

Not liking where that thought was taking her, she moved to the bag and started with some light combinations, determined not to give the watching Helo any reason to report to the Admiral. After a few minutes she was beginning to loosen up, break a sweat, and it felt good. So, as the hatch opened again, she looked up unsuspectingly.

The red-haired President paused at the entrance, obviously having words with the guard outside before he shut the hatch behind her. Turning to the two people watching, she gave them a quick smile of greeting before moving to one side of the gym. That had been something both Captain Agathon and Admiral Adama had been adamant about. Laura was not to get between Starbuck and the hatch. It would be up to Helo, and the guard if necessary, to prevent her exit. The men had stressed that the last thing they needed was for Kara to actually assault the President, and if she tried to stand in the younger woman's way, a cornered Starbuck would likely plow right over the top of Laura to get out.

That hadn't been the only condition, either. The Admiral had insisted that she get a tranquiller injection from Dr. Cottle, just in case things got out of control. In fact, she had two in her pocket. And lastly, Helo had insisted that the guard only be called in as a last resort. They had all fallen silent at that point, each knowing that if the guard was needed, they'd failed and Kara's future was…bleak.

These thoughts ran briefly through Laura's mind as she noted with satisfaction that Helo had managed to get the boxing gloves on Kara and actually had her working on the bag. It had been the younger man's suggestion. He'd proposed that a gloved Starbuck would be safer. Not only do gloved fists cause less damage, but they also acted as their own type of restraint he'd explained.

Kara looked between Laura and Helo and suddenly knew she'd been setup. Her cheeks flamed as the new betrayal by her 'friend' fanned her anger.

Pointing a gloved hand back and forth between the pair, "No frakkin' way. I'm outta here," she said and added actions to words, striding towards the hatch while taking her teeth to the knots on the right glove.

Helo rushed to block her path. Raising both hands before him, he confronted her. "You're not running away. Not this time, Kara," he firmly stated, preparing himself for the likely explosion.

Unable to get the tight laces free with her teeth and speak at the same time, she ignored him, trying to step around to the door. He was having none of it though, just moved into her path again. Leaving off the ties, Starbuck tried to shove the large man out of the way. Braced, he hardly moved but kept his hands up to avoid touching her.

Her breathing was quickening as she tried to dodge by him several more times before she took a step back, glaring at the obstinate man barring her exit. She looked over as the other person in the room spoke up for the first time.

"Kara, we are going to stay here, the three of us," said Laura with a slight wave about the gym. "We've more to discuss and I thought a change of scenery would be a good idea."

"Well, it's not," she said, rejecting the implied order, "And there's nothing more to talk about, certainly not with him," she said with a jerk of her head in Helo's direction.

"I believe that we still have quite a bit to cover," contradicted Laura. "And I'd appreciate it if you would use the punching bag we've thoughtfully provided for you instead of Captain Agathon."

Starbuck stared at the older woman, a contest of wills in their locked eyes. She was the first to look away. Retreating from Helo, Kara put the heavy workout bag between them.

"Frak-it," she loudly said to the room in general as she began pounding the bag in earnest.

Helo and Laura exchanged looks and moved closer to the figure hammering away. Again, Laura kept to the side but positioned herself in Kara's line of sight as Helo took up a poised stance between Starbuck and the door.

Moving a little closer to the sweating woman, Laura braced herself and began, "Kara, what happened after the force-feedings?" she asked. When no answer came, she tried again, "What did Leoben do?" That definitely provoked a response as Starbuck left off her pummeling of the bag and quickly moved to within inches of Laura. She didn't notice Helo slide forward, prepared to intervene.

"Nothing," Kara defiantly breathed at Laura, then stepping back a pace, "How many times do I have to say it. Not… A…Thing," spacing each word to make sure Laura had gotten her point. She swung back to the bag and gave it a particularly vicious punch, putting distance between them again.

Helo looked to Laura for permission. At her nod, he advanced into Starbuck's sight-line before saying, "Guess you could've used one of these back on New Caprica, huh?" Kara just gave the bag a hooking combination.

"Knowing you, I bet you were doing push-ups and sit-ups the entire time, right?" he lightly prodded.

"No," was her grunted reply between swings.

"What? You must have been going stir-crazy in there," he pressed, even though he knew how badly Starbuck had been physically hurt, he still found it impossible to picture her not doing something during those weeks, if for no other reason than to show defiance of her captors' physical abuse.

"Couldn't," her reply breathed between combinations thumped against the slightly swinging bag.

"Why not?" he prompted, instinctively pursuing the line of questioning.

Starbuck dropped her hands and faced the man, "Look, I was tired and-and banged up, so forgive me if I didn't feel like frakkin' exercising, ok!" she yelled at him, then wiped a gloved hand across her brow before turning back to the bag.

As Karl and Laura exchanged a look, she gave him a nod to continue pushing, they didn't seem to be getting anywhere, but the older woman hadn't missed the signs of Kara's increasing agitation as Helo kept at his questions.

"Come on, Starbuck. I know you. No way you just laid there and took it," he said. Despite his being prepared for it, he took an involuntary step backwards when Starbuck whirled on him, her face an enraged mask.

"Like you 'take it' from your Cylon bitch, Helo?" she yelled at him, advancing with her gloved fists clenched in front of her.

With hands raised defensively, he verbally jabbed back at her, "Is that what this is about, Kara. Did Leoben make you 'take it', too?" he goaded.

"Son of bitch!" she erupted, flying at him with a flurry of strikes. Helo kept his hands and arms in front, protecting his face and body from the wave of blows. When he felt them slow slightly, he grabbed both of her wrists, clasping them together between their two bodies, and held on for all he was worth.

"Let go! Damnit, let go!" she yelled, yanking against his grip.

Laura, observing it all, saw when Kara abruptly lost contact with reality and the flashback hit her. The older woman moved forward, trying to warn Helo, but her voice was drowned out by the rising cries.

"Get em off! Get em off! Get em off!" Kara was screaming now, her frantic jerks pulling Helo forward as she tried to pull away. Grimly hanging on, Karl tried calling her name. As the panic and fear in Kara's face became too much for him, he released his hold.

Stumbling back, Kara immediately began swatting at her right arm and torso, continuing to shriek, "Get em off! " over and over. Then she started stomping at something only she saw.

Kara's gasped screams turned pleading, "Get it off! Get it off," as she jerked at the glove on her left hand, padded fingers scraping at the laces, and her own flesh, in her frenzied efforts to remove the boxing mitt.

This was frakkin' wrong, Helo silently cursed, helplessly watching Kara backing way, still tearing at her gloved hand as wild sobs choked her now. Falling over a bench, she landed hard on her back. She kicked out at the object, propelling it away as she continued to scramble back.

The extremity of Kara's horror hit Laura like she'd been slapped. They'd done this to her…on purpose. And now she feared for the young woman's sanity as she watched Kara beat at herself like she was being bitten all over. Then, as some terror drove Kara to tear at her gloved hand with her teeth, Laura moved to Helo's side.

"Get the gloves off," she ordered. "Take them off. Hurry! Before she hurts herself," Laura urgently said, giving the man a shove towards where Kara had backed herself against the wall.

Karl moved swiftly forward, kneeling beside Kara's frantic figure. He grabbed her wrist and struggled to undo the tight knots, cursing below his breath as they defied his shaking fingers. Glancing up at the white face and glazed eyes, he reached for the knife he kept in a ankle strap. Flicking it open, he sliced through the laces on both gloves, and slipped the blade safely back into his boot. Finally, he managed to pull the glove free of Kara's hand, and he could feel her body convulse as a shudder shook her. He made short work of the other and threw both way from them.

Pulling Kara into his arms, Karl murmured into her ear as he rocked her. She buried her face against him, practically burrowing into his chest as her sobs continued. He didn't understand what she said at first, but as he cocked his head closer, he could make out what she was pleading.

"Please don't…please don't…please don't…" he could hear her begging with each gasp.

"Don't what, Kara?" Karl softly demanded. Knowing that it was now or never for them to get out of her what had happened, he steeled himself against the pain at her broken whimpers.

"Don't-put it-it-back-on. _Please!_ No, d-d-don't…" she cried against his chest, her hands wrapped in the front of his tank top.

Helo looked sideways at Laura as she knelt beside him. His own anguish reflected in the tears that tracked down the older woman's face and haunted eyes.

"We have to know," Laura prompted, her voice quivering.

"What don't you want me to put back on?" Karl forced himself to ask of the quaking form he held.

"Can't… Can't-look-at-him… Don't… P-p-please…" Kara pleaded, her voice broken and lost.

"Kara, who can't you look at?" he prodded.

"Sam…just…I-I can't," came the muffled reply. He raised confused eyes to Laura's as the older woman blinked twice then went white and whirled away to be sick off to the side of the mat. It took Karl a moment longer to grasp what Kara meant, when he did, he felt his own stomach try to follow the President's example.

Swallowing the rising bile, he bent his head and let his own horror loose. No. No. No… Those bastards! Those frakking sons-of-bitches, he mentally spat the curses, trying to deny what they'd done. Deny that they couldn't have—wouldn't have—cuffed Kara to Anders' corpse, leaving her attached to her husband's rotting body. Overwhelmed, Karl continued to rock his friend, offering what comfort he could with his murmured words and presence.

Feeling a hand touch his shoulder, Karl looked up with heartsick eyes at Laura's equally reddened ones.

"There's more," Laura whispered, aching to end it now, but knowing it was better to do this all at once—and pray that they could bring Kara back from it afterward.

The young officer shut his eyes. Here he'd always thought he was strong. Now, faced with causing Kara more pain, Karl just didn't know how to do it. He shook his head, unable to ask—demand—what Laura thought was necessary.

She seemed to realize this. Kneeling again at his side, Laura reached out a gentle hand, she began stoking the blonde hair as she asked, "Kara, what happened? What happened next?"

Kara seemed to calm slightly beneath her hand, and they heard the mumbled reply, "Lee…took it off."

"Leoben took off the cuffs," she prompted, "Kara, the ones that held you to Sam's corpse?" Laura's voice requiring an answer.

Karl felt the negative headshake against him as the muffled "No," came from the hunched form.

"No?"

"Lee…he took it off. He…"

Laura and Karl shared a perplexed look then Laura's brows lifted, and she spoke again, "Then what did Leob—what did Lee do, Kara? What did he do after he released you."

"Took me…took me away," Kara's reply quivered as she gasped for breaths. "He took me…"

Laura pushed the next question out, "Who? Who took you?"

"Lee… Lee—no, Le-Leoben. I—" the words broke off in confusion.

Driving through to the bitter end, "Did Leoben touch you…Did he…did he rape you, Kara?"

"No, Lee... I… I don'… Leoben? Where'd the…? No. _No! Frakker—"_ Kara started to struggle within Karl's arms.

"Hey! Kara. It's me. It's Karl," he desperately said, torn whether to hold on or release her. The quick headshake from Laura firmed his grip and he continued, "It's Helo. I've got you Kara. You're safe. It's Helo."

His words must have penetrated, because she stopped pushing against his chest. The anguished sound she made twisted his heart. Then her words came again. "I-I-I let him. I…" she gasped into the rough material of his tanktop, "I didn't… I don't…" she broke off again into choked sobs.

Laura let her own head bow, finding herself praying to the gods for their guidance, for them to somehow ease the weight crushing the devastated young woman. And, a deep anger flaring in her, Laura prayed that their vengeance be visited on the ones that had caused such damage.

Lifting her head again, Laura heard Helo trying to calm his hysterical friend. Kara didn't seem to hear him and the severity of her distress wasn't lessening. Laura rose and pulled the two syringes from her pocket. Choosing the smaller dosage, she removed the cap and, on receiving Helo's grim agreement, swiftly injected it into Kara's arm.

They watched as the drug loosened the clenched form, the gasps easing as it took effect. Karl could still feel the shudders vibrating into him, but was relieved as even they eased slightly. He watched as Laura searched the gym, returning with Helo's jacket and several towels. She awkwardly draped the towels and jacket around the shivering shoulders, leaning back as Helo tucked them more securely about the huddled form against his chest without releasing his hold.

"Maybe…" worry lacing Laura's voice, "maybe we should get Dr. Cottle," she hesitantly suggested.

"We need to clean and warm her up," Helo said, and Laura realized for the first time that Kara had vomited over herself and the young man sometime in the last few minutes. He added, "I…I think she'd prefer not to go back to sickbay. And…I know someone that can help us with her," he paused, debating whether it was really a good idea or not, then went ahead and suggested it, "I can get Sharon here without anyone questioning why," he flatly stated.

Laura's eyebrows rose in surprise and a denial was poised on her lips, but she forced herself to consider his suggestion. They needed to get Kara into the showers. Admitting that she wasn't strong enough to handle the well-muscled woman if she struggled, Laura also realized that it was going to take at least two people just to keep Kara on her feet long enough to get her cleaned up. And after her revelations, having any male assistance was ill-advised. And just maybe, having the Cylon help care for her, might go a long ways to healing the breach between the two women.

"Yes," she said, nearly as surprised as Helo appeared. Putting actions to words, she stepped out to the guard and had him page Lieutenant Agathon to immediately report to the gym.

[ I I I I I ]

When Sharon was shown in, she hesitantly crossed to the grouped forms. Knowing that Karl was meeting with Kara in the gym, the urgent summons had sent her heart and feet racing to get here, concerned that her husband had been injured—or worse—for them to page her as they had. So she felt relief flood her as she approached and saw that Karl appeared intact and, at seeing her, gave her a smile, even if it was a grim one.

Sharon's quick eyes took in the blonde figure he firmly held, noting how he gently rocked Kara as one would a child. She also noted the President's bedraggled appearance and drawn features. Obviously, whatever had happened had been an ordeal for all three.

Laura rose and managed a fleeting smile for the dark-haired Cyl—woman—before clearing her throat, "Thank you for coming Lieutenant. Helo thought you might be willing to assist us with Captain Thrace?" Laura's weary voice rose with the question, wondering if they were asking too much of the young woman, maybe of both women.

"Madam President," Sharon said as she looked questioningly between her spouse and the President, wondering what type of help they could possibly think she could provide when Starbuck had so 'adamantly' shown her hate for anything Cylon, including her.

Helo spoke for the first time, "We need to get Kara into the showers. I can't do it and Laura needs help," he explained, his eyes appealing to Sharon to help their friend. Her brown eyes widened as she understood what they were asking.

Eyebrows lifting, "You want the President and me to take a shower with Starbuck?" she asked incredulously.

Laura put her hand to her mouth to cover the inappropriate grin the woman's words invoked. Put that way…it did sound dubious.

"Lieutenant—Sharon—I was led to believe that you and Kara were friends once, before…" she trailed off, not fully comfortable herself with the woman's Cylon nature.

"Before I 'became' a Cylon, you mean," Sharon filled in, a touch of bitterness flavoring her tone for the past treatment she'd received from both the President and Starbuck.

"Yes. And I believe you and Captain Thrace had even managed to set that aside prior to New Caprica?" prompted Laura.

"I thought so," Sharon agreed, then added, "well, to some extent, at least. But since her return…" The woman shook her head in doubt. "Will she even let me," she asked, "help her, that is?" trying to see how Kara was responding to their conversation; as far as Sharon could tell, she even didn't seem aware of anything going on around her. She knew the figure Helo held was awake by the raggedness to her breathing, but Kara wasn't giving any indications that she was even aware of their conversation.

Laura knew the Raptor pilot had questions about what had happened, but now was not the time or place to try to answer them. Realizing that Sharon might need to know at least a little to convince her of the necessity of her help, Laura said, "During her captivity, Kara was subjected to torture and abuse…including rape." She saw the darker woman swallow, but showed no surprise at the revelation. The older woman gave Helo a brief glare when she realized that he had obviously shared at least some details about Kara's condition with his wife. "We confronted her on her…experiences. Kara's in a state of shock," Laura added, about to continue when Sharon interrupted.

"Surely we should take her to Doc Cottle?" Sharon protested, not getting why they hadn't already done so.

"No, Sharon," Helo said with a quick head shake. "Kara's letting me hold her now, but… Well, I don't think that anyone male should handle her for awhile. That includes Cottle," he added.

"He'd have to keep her sedated," Laura stated. Then, "We just made this breakthrough, and she needs to be in familiar hands and not isolated in sickbay," she explained. "Besides, I'd like to limit those that know about this. While the doctor's discrete, too many people pass through sickbay."

"Well, if we're going to do this," Sharon stated, moving closer to the three, "we should get at it, she's not looking too good," she added, knowing it for the understatement it was.

Watching Helo struggle to his feet with his burden, Sharon realized that he was going to have to carry her to the back where the showers were. Kara had responded to his motion by burrowing closer. Sharon lost any lingering resentment as she took in her friend's debilitated state. Never having expected to see Starbuck so…so…reduced, she vehemently decided she preferred an enraged Kara over this shell-shocked shadow.

She and the President followed the pair to the alcove. Helo set her on a corner seat, trying to straighten but unable as Kara refused to release her clenched hands from the front of his tank. Seeing his predicament, Sharon squatted in front of them and eased Kara's fingers loose, constantly murmuring reassuring words as she did.

Getting her first good look at the her, Sharon's dismay at Kara's condition deepened. Sunken glazed eyes stared as if fixed on images beyond the small room. Sweat, tears and vomit were smeared across the gray face and blood trailed down Kara's chin from the swollen lip she'd bitten through.

Sharon stood and turned, tears springing to her eyes. She dashed them away as the President put a steadying hand on her arm.

"I'm fine. I just didn't know…" she trailed off.

"None of knew how bad it really was. She hid it well…at least at first," Laura softly said. Then turned to the young man who looked like he wanted to pull his wife into his arms to share their grief. They'd have to do that later. "Helo, we'll need a change of clothes for Kara and…I think it best that you leave now," she said, giving the man both a job and dismissal in one.

As he gave a jerky nod and took a step, Laura reached out to pause him. "You did good, Captain."

With a glance back at the slumped figure, "Take care of her," he fiercely said, then spun around and moved away with stiff strides.

Pulling closed the curtain that separated the showers from the gym, both women began to undress. Being in the military, Sharon wasn't usually body conscious but this was the President stripping beside her, and she couldn't help feeling uncomfortable.

The older woman must have had some of the same thoughts because she flashed a brief smile and said into the awkward silence, "I'd like you to call me Laura," then at the petite woman's raised brows, added, "In private, at least. I think that's more appropriate now than Madam President and Lieutenant Agathon, don't you think?"

"Ok…Laura," Sharon agreed, stepping out of the last of her undergarments.

The two women turned to the third and gently began undressing her. As they did, Sharon heard Laura speaking softly to Kara as they stripped her. She heard the murmured phrases, _'It wasn't your fault.' 'You haven't done anything wrong.' _And,_ 'It's ok, he'll never hurt you again.' 'You have people that care for you_.' But most often Laura just repeated, _'You're safe now, Kara.'_

As they removed the last of her clothes, Sharon was unnerved by how docile Kara appeared and gave the woman beside her a questioning glance.

Interpreting Sharon's look, "I gave her an injection," Laura explained. "We needed to take the edge off. There's another syringe in my pants pocket with enough to put her out altogether if…" she faltered, not having to voice what circumstances might make it necessary to give the second injection.

Sharon adjusted the water, running it until it was comfortably warm. Each woman taking an arm, they managed to lift Kara to her feet. Thankfully, she seemed able to stand when supported. With her held between them, they moved Kara under the spray. As the water sluiced over the pale woman, Kara closed her eyes, but seemed to become more steady beneath its stream.

As Sharon got her first look at the twin pale marks that crossed Kara's shoulders and back, she had to fight back tears again, and distracted herself by working cleanser into the short blonde hair, lightly massaging the scalp as she did.

"Hotter," came a mumbled order.

Reaching for the regulator, Laura turned the dial further to the left, feeling the heat increase. Using one of the small workout towels, she tenderly cleaned the wan face.

When Sharon and Laura's eyes met above Kara's slumped shoulders, an unspoken connection crystallized. They took care of the abused woman as only another woman could. As Laura continued to lightly running the material over Kara's body, tenderly wiping away the fear-induced sweat, she remembered times as a teenager with her sisters when she'd felt this intimacy, and it returned naturally now as she passed the cloth to Sharon so the dark-haired woman could finish.

"Hotter," the one word broke their brief rapport, and Laura reached forward to twist the knob even further leftward.

Kara slowly rotated beneath the steaming heat, raising her face against its pressure. Lowering her head, water flowed through her hair, rinsing it clean. With rivulets trailing down her face, Kara opened her eyes to face the dark ones of the woman she'd once called a friend, and then an enemy.

Sharon saw recognition in the green eyes and held her breath, waiting for anger, hate or revulsion to swirl their depths. Instead, the solemn eyes studied hers, searching for something in her own gaze. Grief suddenly crumpled the pale face as Kara dissolved into tears and leaned forward into the shorter woman's shoulder. Startled, Sharon gathered the blonde against her.

Laura stepped in close so they held Kara protected between their bodies. Stroking the blonde head, she murmured words of comfort, not caring what exactly they were, just knowing that they were said and heard. The older woman could feel the difference in Kara's quiet crying compared to her hysterical tears of earlier. These were a release, a sharing of the misery that had swamped her very spirit. Laura and Sharon held onto Kara, giving her something solid to cling to as the emotions swept through her.

For one of the few times in her life, Kara let others support her, giving over to their strength and concern.

The way Laura and Sharon held her now was an experience Kara had never known before, this offer of comfort on such a fundamental level. It was so different from what Leoben had offered her. And while both Helo and Adama had been familiar physical presences, but they'd still been male.

When Kara's tears eased and she finally straighten, both of the other women took a small step back, giving her the chance to find her own balance before letting go completely. As Kara raised her head again, letting the jetting water wash away the salt tracks on her face, the two stepped out of the water and wrapped themselves in towels.

Laura held one out to Kara as she finally turned off the shower faucet. The younger woman took the proffered towel, securing it around her torso, but then dropped her eyes before the older woman's searching gaze.

Laura sighed, practically able to see Starbuck re-emerging and pushing Kara aside. As the peace Kara had temporarily found disappeared behind the Viper Jock's defenses, Laura wondered if they'd made any progress. They had to have, finally unearthing the dark weed that had taken root in Kara's subconscious. Laura fervently hoped that exposing it would allow them to dig it out. She knew that their work didn't end here, that the memory was bound to have tenacious tendrils of guilt and shame that would be resistant to releasing their hold, such was the power of a sexual assault.

_Well, I haven't come this far to fail now._

Watching Kara's body language change, reverting to her usual closed, tense figure, Laura renewed her determination. The worst had finally been revealed—Lords, she hoped that was it—and now the job of reclaiming the soil of Kara's self-esteem was ahead of them.

As they heard the knock on the hatch, Sharon, who was already dressed, went to answer it. She retrieved the clothes from Helo and explained that it might be better for them to take Kara back to the Admiral's quarters without him. The brief look of hurt that flashed across his eyes was almost instantly replaced by a knowing nod.

Because she had missed much of what Laura had discerned, Sharon was surprised by Kara's refusal to look at her as she handed the blonde the clean outfit. She exchanged glances with Laura as Kara got dressed while keeping her head bent the entire time. Laura stepped forward, moving slightly between the two younger women.

"Kara, look at me," she said. Then, when she still refused, Laura used a phrase she'd heard the Admiral coin, "Give me your eyes, Captain," she commanded.

As the green eyes involuntarily responded to the familiar order, Laura was both relieved—and saddened by the confirmation of what she saw. She'd been afraid that Starbuck's apathy for the Cylon Sharon had returned, or at least the anger that lurked always just below the surface. But Kara's gaze reflected none of that, instead it only swirled with deep shame and confusion.

As the blonde head dipped again, Laura reached out, grasping her chin and lifting. Kara started to jerk away, but stopped as the older woman shook her head.

"It was not your fault. You did _nothing_ wrong," Laura firmly stated, then grimaced at the denial in the pale face before her. She was well aware that it would take time to bring Kara around to the truth. All she could do was keep planting that belief until it took hold and grew. Reflecting on all of Kara's issues, Laura also knew the younger woman would be feeling exposed by what she'd revealed. That was yet another insidious weed to be uprooted. "It's ok to be weak sometimes, Kara," Laura said.

"No, it's not," disagreed Starbuck, this time pulling her face from the other's grip, but unable now to avert her eyes from the intense brown ones.

"Weakness is not a sin," Laura insisted, "Not something that has to be purged."

"You're wrong," with a shake of her head, Starbuck let bitter experience color her voice, "If you're weak, you're dead. That's the world I know," she rasped out.

"We're all weak sometimes. There's no one that can be strong throughout their life. The strongest people ask for, and accept, help when they need it, Kara," she said, laying a hand on her arm. Laura noted that Kara didn't flinch away or shake off the physical touch. They'd made that much progress as least, she thought with relief.

"I know what I've been taught," assert Starbuck, clasping her fingers, "And that's if you let people see you're weak, someone'll punish you for it."

Struggling how to get through her conditioning, Laura tried again, "Weakness just proves that we're human," she said. As Kara's eyes flicked to the Cylon woman, Laura instantly realized her mistake.

"She's right, Kara," Sharon quickly spoke up. "That's why the Cylons have the same weaknesses as humans. Without them, we aren't people. Just machines."

Both women saw Starbuck's lips tighten as Sharon identified herself with the other Cylons. As she watched, Laura could see the inner conflict displayed in Kara's mobile face. It showed in the way she started worrying her lip, the flexing of the jaw muscles in her cheeks, and how her green gaze drifted away, only to be pulled back to the Raptor pilot.

"You're different," came the grudging words.

"That's because Sharon's a person," Laura agreed. "A whole person that makes mistakes, has strengths…and weaknesses."

The blonde head bent again with a headshake. Laura interpreted it as Starbuck's continuing resistance to her assertions on weakness, instead of a statement on Sharon's...personhood.

"Kara, will you at least admit that not everyone will attack weakness when they see it?" Laura prompted, trying to get her to look at it another way, "Even if weakness is a sin, can't you believe that people might forgive you for it?"

"He won't," she muttered, "He'll be disgusted. When they know the truth, both of them will," came the painful words, and Kara dashed away a tear. "I'll disgust them."

Not sure if Kara could survive another crying jag, Laura didn't know how to proceed. She was tired, and she knew part of Kara's continuing negativity was because of exhaustion, too. But Laura couldn't let this stand. She cupped Kara's cheeks in her palms, refusing to let the young woman pull away again.

"What happened on New Caprica was not your fault," declared Laura, "Leoben was _not…your…fault_. Only he's responsible for his actions," she stressed, forcing all the conviction she possessed into her voice and gaze, "You did nothing wrong, Kara. He took you without your consent." As Kara shook her head within Laura's hands, she kept her grip firm. "Listen to me. You did not consent. No…you didn't. After weeks of physical and mental abuse, you had no will left to consent," she insisted, leaning her forehead against the blonde's as if hoping she could physically press her conviction through to the mind of the lost woman. "You were confused. What you went through, what Leoben did, left you no choices. No choices, no will, no consent. It's that simple, Kara. All you have to do is let go of the belief you had a choice. He never gave you one," she stated.

"I'm sorry," Kara said, her chin and brows quivering as she held back more tears. "I'm sorry I can't just get over it, let it go. I… It just…" she stumbled to a halt.

"No one's expecting you to 'just get over it'. You're confused and what happened to you took months, why wouldn't it take at least as long to recover?" Laura stated with a slight smile. "You and I still have things to talk about, but not tonight. I think we've all had a rather full evening," she said, give Kara a last gauging look before finally releasing her hold. Laura gently took hold of one of Kara's elbows as Sharon tentatively touched her other, then lightly grasped it when Kara didn't show signs of resisting. "Sharon and I can accompany you back to the Admiral's quarters, and I'll see you tomorrow night, Ok?"

"The Admiral…he can't know." Kara demanded as the thought of seeing him evoked a panicky feeling of being taken to judgment. She dug in her heels, forcing them to a halt.

"What if I promise not to discuss anything about tonight with Admiral Adama until you and I have a chance tomorrow to see what you're comfortable with my sharing?" suggested Laura.

Kara stared at the older woman, seeking reassurance. "I guess," she finally conceded and let herself be encouraged onward. At least she had a reprieve for tonight.

[ I I I I I ]

When Sharon returned to her quarters an hour later, Helo stopped his anxious pacing and pulled her form against him. As the woman nuzzled into her husband's broad chest, she could thankfully tell he had showered and changed, too. The last thing she felt up to was being reminded of Kara's condition as Sharon had first seen her in the gym.

But Karl had other ideas, demanding to know if Kara was ok after he'd left. She did her best to reassure him that she was fine when they'd left her in the Admiral's cabin.

Remembering Kara's grateful look when Laura, having insisted she take her medication, promised they'd stay until she fell asleep. Kara had curled up on the Admiral's couch with her back to them, probably conflicted about their presence, but Sharon found it an optimistic sign that she had accepted them there at all. That the intractable Viper pilot had been willing to sleep in Sharon's presence was a concession that just that morning the Cylon woman wouldn't have believed possible.

Once they were sure that Kara was deeply asleep, the women had spoken briefly, Laura filling in a few additional details on Leoben's part in Kara's captivity, including how he'd chained Sam's dead body to Kara and left her attached to the corpse. It had taken all of Sharon's self control not to flee into the Admiral's washroom and be sick.

Now, back in her own husband's comforting embrace, she just wanted to be held, to feel the strong, steady heartbeat against her ear. Sensing that Sharon wasn't ready to discuss what had happened, Karl lifted her. With their lips tenderly tasting each others, he carried her to their bunk and turned out the light.

[ I I I I I ]

The Admiral looked inquiringly from Kara's sleeping form to Laura where she was sitting at his desk, jotting notes, her exhaustion denoted by the droop of her shoulders and how she kept her head propped up on one palm.

_Damn the woman. She's pushing herself too hard, making time for Kara when she already has a hundred other demands. Of course, this was my idea, just didn't know what it would take out of her._

He rubbed a tired hand behind his neck, trying to loosen the muscles tensed from long hours staring at charts and display screens. As he moved over to look down at what Laura was working on, he debated whether to suggest she take a few days break from the sessions with Kara. Surely, both of them needed a break? His eyes widened slightly as he realized that the red hair was damp. Now why had she taken a shower? Bill shoved the question aside as Laura lifted haunted eyes to his. He saw her swallow several times before forcing her voice to speak.

"Don't ask, Bill. It was bad…and no," she added, "I can't tell you anything tonight. I promised Kara that we'd decide together what to share with you."

His craggy features tightened as he realized that he wasn't going to be consulted on what he was or wasn't told about his surrogate daughter's experiences. He gave himself a mental shake, remembering that it had one of the conditions he'd agreed on with Laura if she would accept his request to work with Kara in the first place.

"Ok. I trust you'll tell me what I need to know," he said, then slouched into the chair beside hers and contemplated the extraordinarily woman sitting so close to him. "Are you sure you're up to continuing this?" concern tingeing his question.

"I won't deny I'm exhausted. But…I think the worst might be behind us. Here's hoping I'm not being overly optimistic," she said, holding up crossed fingers. "Instead of meeting nightly with her here, starting tomorrow evening I'd like Kara to come over to Colonial One a few times each week."

"Well, since whatever you're going to tell me can wait, I suggest you call it a night, Madam President." Standing, he offered her a hand, which she accepted with a grateful smile as she rose onto unsteady legs.

"Goodnight, Admiral," she said, giving his warm grip a lingering squeeze before she straightened her back and strode from his home.


	73. Chapter 73 Reflections

Chapter 73 Reflections

Kara's eyelids fluttered open and she stared up at the grey ceiling above the couch. Grey...like the other ceiling…only made of dark metal instead of cold concrete. It didn't feel like much of a difference but it was suppose to mean that she was safe. Yet, right now safe was the last thing she felt as all the unblocked memories crashed down on her waking mind. Clutching at the rough blanket, she fought to keep herself grounded in the here and now. It was so damned hard though, and she sucked in a lungful of air, struggling to breathe past the realization of what had passed between Leoben and her.

Rolling from the improvised bed, she bolted for the lavatory, thankful the seat was up as she started to retch and barely made it before heaving. Propped on the rim, Kara tried to reject what had happened; too horrified to stomach the knowledge.

Some minutes later, shaking and clammy, she straightened and shuffled to the sink. Flinching from the image in the mirror, Kara grabbed the nearest towel and covered the offending reflection once again. Turning away, she stepped to the small shower the Admiral's bathroom boasted. Usually she used the officers' head to clean up, not fully comfortable using the Admiral's, but this time the need to rid herself of the feeling of filth was overwhelming and she cranked the water on and moved under the spray. Within the pounding stream, she scrubbed at her skin, wishing for something more abrasive than the thin washcloth she'd found.

Despite desiring nothing more than to scour until she drew blood, Kara didn't want to linger, afraid the Old Man would wake and need the facility. It was bad enough that she was imposing on him as is, she didn't dare inconvenience him any further.

Once dry and dressed in the same clothes as the day before, she let herself out to find Sergeant Mathias and Corporal Paulson just changing shifts. At the female Marine's questioning look, Kara lifted the bundle under her arm, showing the clean set of clothes and toothbrush. She doubted either missed that her hair was wet and were wondering why she was off to the group facilities when a private one was readily available.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Mathias fall in behind her. It was probably good that she had her watch dog along at the moment, Kara acknowledged to herself, feeling the familiar self-destructive urges pushing her to do something incredibly stupid, like say, hijack a Viper and see how far she could go before running out of fuel and air. Mathias' presence was strangely reassuring, like an external emergency break on her impulses to run or strike out. Knowing the Marine was on her heels gave her a reason to shove them aside. And it wasn't like either were real options anyways.

Maybe the Admiral was right. Maybe she needed to learn another way than fight or flight. That thought triggered another. The 'other' option she sometimes chose, that of frakkin'…which brought her chaotic thoughts back around to what she'd remembered about New Caprica.

The nausea and dizziness hit her again, and she staggered to a stop, hand reaching for the wall to support herself as she fought for control of her mind and body.

"Kara?" the concerned voice was vaguely familiar, but it took a second repetition of her name before she placed it as the Sergeant's. The reminder of her shadowing companion was enough to add the extra kick she need to break free from the flashback and she blinked open her eyes to see the Marine a safe few steps away, waving on crewmembers that had paused in the corridor. Mathias turned back to her, yet kept her distance, undoubtedly having learned not to approach her during one of her 'episodes'. Again, Kara found it oddly comforting having someone watching her back, even if the guard's continued presence implied that the Admiral didn't trust her on her own.

And rightly so. Once he found out the extent of her betrayal, he wouldn't trust her at all. She swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat and braced herself upright with a nod at the other woman. Mathias gave her an appraising look before returning her nod in acknowledgment that Kara had regained control and wasn't about to go nova on her.

The rest of the trip to the head and back was uneventful and she stepped through the hatch to see the Admiral up and already dressed. She saw the clouded worry in his blue eyes dissipate as she entered.

Dredging up a smile, "Good morning, Sir," she said, striving for a mask of normalcy.

"Good morning, Kara. Up early I see," he responded, gaze flicking towards the hatch and back.

"Um, yeah, thought I'd clean up first…before breakfast." His eyes narrowed, and though he didn't say anything, she felt his prompting for more. "I woke up feeling kinda out of sorts," was all the explanation she could manage.

"Ok… Well, come eat. It tastes worse cold," he said, with a nod to the bowl waiting at the second place setting.

Thankful that he hadn't pushed further, Kara crossed and lowered herself into the chair to regard the unappetizing serving of oatmeal. Her stomach turned over as the sparse meal reminded her again of her time in the detention center. A distant part of her noted that she was glad Cottle had confirmed that she wasn't pregnant; otherwise the constant nausea would have had her imagining the worst. As it was, she knew it was just her body's response to the roiling disgust that had taken up permanent residence in the pit of her stomach since Leoben first dragged her from her tent.

Maybe she should ask the Doc if she could be getting an ulcer. She had always expected to be the cause of ulcers, not to be inflicted by one herself. The irony of the idea lifted the corners of her lips and Adama must have seen it.

"If I knew oatmeal would make you smile, I'd have ordered it for breakfast every morning." His softly spoken comment pulled her gaze to him and Kara forced herself to meet his eyes.

"Please _don't_. I've had enough of it to consider cannibalism as a viable alternative, Sir," she said. "So, if you don't want me chewing someone's ass for no good reason, let's not put in that request."

"Right," he said, sharing the joke before the moment passed and he resolutely lifted his spoon and began to eat. Kara followed suit, and neither tried to make any further small talk, each knowing that they were purposefully ignoring the subject of last night's session.

Once the Admiral finished, he excused himself and left, his presence replaced by the watchful, but thankfully silent, one of the Sergeant's.

Glancing at the wall clock, Kara saw that she still had quite a bit of time before her maintenance shift, but decided to head down to the bay early. It was preferable to remaining in the cabin dwelling on the oppressive memories


	74. Chapter 74 Collaborations

Chapter 74 Collaborations

Saul Tigh stepped into CIC and caught the Admiral's eye with a flick of his own towards the wardroom.

"Colonel," Admiral Adama acknowledged, "I'll join you in a moment, " he said, before turning back to the inventory list he was reviewing with Comm Officer Dualla.

Tigh let his single eye rake the room's occupants, surprising many inquisitive stares that quickly dropped back to their tasks. With arms crossed behind his back, he strolled to the wardroom and entered to wait for his Admiral's arrival.

As Bill Adama closed the hatch behind him as he stepped into the wardroom, he took time to do a more thorough scrutiny of his previous XO. Noting the white-haired man's sharp turnout and carriage, Bill gave an internal nod of satisfaction, then waved his officer to take a seat.

"What can I do for you, Colonel?" the Admiral asked, already thinking—hoping—he knew why his friend was here.

"Want to get my old job back, if you're still willing to have a battered relic like me at your side?" Saul asked with a slight hoarseness to his voice, a little afraid what the answer might be as he settled straight-backed into the indicated chair opposite his commander.

"No one I'd rather have with me," Adama stated, a weathered grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Besides, we relics have to stick together. How soon you ready to resume your duties, XO?"

"You've got me when you want me. I'm sick of my own company and it's about time to start pulling my share of the load again," Tigh answered, relief lightening his tone. Casting a glace at the closed door leading to the brains of Galactica's systems. "So, I hear you've had Captain Agathon as your acting-XO. How's he done?" Tigh casually asked.

Not fooled by the other man's nonchalant manner, Bill knew Saul was asking if he was even needed anymore.

"Helo's done well. Good man and an excellent officer. He'll make a fine commander one day. But there are…issues," Adama admitted.

"What? Just because he's shacked up with a Cylon?" mocked Tigh. "Same Cylon you pinned Lieutenant wings on? Now what about that might rile anyone's feathers, huh," he scoffed, rubbing his hands on his uniform slacks before pushing to his feet.

"You're not going to have any trouble with Lieutenant Agathon are you, Colonial Tigh," the Admiral asked sharply, letting his eyes narrow as he rose to his feet, too.

"Course not, Bill. Long as she does her job and keeps her nose clean, guess she's your problem, not mine," Tigh returned.

"Not good enough. Sharon Agathon—Athena—is a respected member of my crew now. I've given her my trust because she damn well earned it. As my XO, I have to know that you can handle any personal issues you have working with a Cylon. Can you, Colonel?" he demanded, locking his steely gaze with the other man's.

Tigh came to attention and steadily met his commanding officer's stare. "Sir, if you say that Athena is golden, then you can be assured I'll treat her with kid gloves."

"Don't have to go that far, Saul. Just treat her like the rest of the crew," Adama relented.

"Speaking of crew…" Tigh rubbed his chin as he debated, unsure how to broach what he needed to say.

Adama was perplexed by the variety of emotions that flitted across the other man's face, then quirked an eyebrow as Tigh sank back down into his chair with a resigned sigh.

"What's bother you, Saul?" Bill quietly prompted, resuming his own seat with his hands and elbows leaning forward on the table that separated the two men**.**

Tigh was silent as he thought about Sam Anders. He knew the man hadn't made it back to the Galactica, hadn't survived his captivity in Cylon hands. No one had told the Colonel any details, but he'd heard enough to know that Captain Thrace's husband had died in the detention center before the rescue.

Pulling his attention back to the present, Tigh admitted, "I frakked up, Bill. I trusted someone and a Resistance raid was ambushed because of it…twice." Not able to remain sitting, he abruptly stood and wandered over to stare at the framed picture of Bill and his sons. He picked up the photo and wondered if things might have been different if he and Ellen had had children. Setting the frozen family moment down, he swung back to his old friend who was intently watching him.

Breaking the silence of the wardroom, Saul stated, "It was Ellen. She knew our plans. Gave them to the Cylons." Lowering his eyes to the clenched hands at his side, Saul remembered how those hands had held his wife's lithe form that last night together. How it was with his own hands that he had ended her life.

As Bill watched, his old friend seemed to shrink and his heart drain away, leaving Saul once again looking like the lost refugee they'd rescued from New Caprica. Rising, Adama moved to stand in front of the other man and gripped the lean arms at the elbows. He didn't question how Saul had known of his wife's guilt. If he said Ellen had collaborated, then she had. Bill could tell there was more the Colonel had to say, but words seemed unable to break past the man's clenched jaw.

Giving his friend a slight shake, "Tell me what happened to Ellen," the Admiral softly commanded.

"After the second 'incident', when you sent Boom—Athena—to the surface and the Cylons were waiting, the Chief pointed out that this time there was only one person that could have given us away. I confronted her. Told her I knew. Demanded to know who she'd told about the raid and how long she'd been supplying information." A pained sigh escaped Tigh, but he forced himself to continue, "Turns out that preacher skin-job, Brother Cavil, had come to her, threatening to arrest me again if she didn't supply him with Intel on the Resistance," Saul flatly stated, but Bill could feel the arms beneath his hands shake as the emotions within his XO fought to find a way to escape his tight control. "She did it because she loved me, Bill. To protect me. And, Gods know, I'd have been tempted if they'd threatened her instead," he confessed.

The Admiral strongly doubted this last statement. The Colonel knew there was no way he could've trusted the Cylons to keep their word. And betrayal was not something that Saul Tigh would have been able to live with. Which begged the question of how his wife had died.

"What happened to Ellen?" Bill repeated, already pretty sure he knew, but also knew that his friend needed to get everything out in the open where it could be faced…where they could face it together.

"You know, Bill…I think she knew what I'd put in her cup, but she drank it anyways." Saul's composure crumbled as he remembered rocking Ellen's warm body in his arms as her breathing got shallower…and finally stopped.

After a few moments, Colonel Saul Tigh straightened and thrust his chin forward, refusing to let the self-pity drag him down again. He had too many debts to repay to spend anymore time wallowing at _that _well.

Relieved, Bill let his hands fall to his side as he saw the change in the man before him, recognizing the XO's bulldog personality surging out of the darkness of the New Caprican memories.

"Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?" Adama asked.

"Yeah, you can let me see Starbuck," came Tigh's surprising request. He watched as the Admiral hesitated, and met the Adama's evaluating gaze as it scrutinized his own.

"Ok, I can arrange that," Bill said. "I have her working on fleet contingency plans in my quarters this afternoon. How about you review those with her?" he suggested.

"That'll do," Tigh agreed. Then, "I gave her some advice once. Don't think she was better off for it. I know we had it different there, but guess I'm thinking she could maybe use an experienced ear—or two." Saul Tigh gave a smirk as he added, "Still got both of those."


	75. Chapter 75 Shared Experiences

Chapter 75 Shared Experiences

The guard knocked on the hatch and announced Colonel Tigh, causing Kara to jerk her head up from the book she'd been highlighting. From long habit, she immediately ran over a guilty inventory of possible reasons the Colonel might be here to see her. Almost as quickly, she concluded that the man's motive for visiting probably had no connection to any of her past misdeeds.

Stepping around the table, she moved hesitantly to greet Tigh. He looked pretty good, she absently noted. As she approached him, she realized that smell the alcohol vapors that usually clung to him was gone, and his eyes were focused and intense as they met hers.

"Colonel, Sir, this is a surprise," she blurted out. "Um, you want a drink? Water or…something," she waved vaguely towards the Admiral's bar. Though his gaze shifted to the bottles, Tigh shook his head.

"I've been reinstated as XO. Best not, first day back and all," he said, rubbing his hands down the sides of his blue uniform pants.

"So, what can I do you for, Sir?"

"Admiral said you're updating contingency plans for the fleet. Thought I could give you the benefit of my experienced eye," he replied, pointing to his face, with a wry grin at his pun.

"Of course, Colonel." Her own eyes lingered on the blatant proof of the torture he had suffered at the hands of the Cylons. She jerked her gaze away and returned to the hodgepodge of papers and books, knowing that Tigh would follow.

The Colonel had made a quick evaluation of Starbuck's condition during their interchange. With a quiet grunt to himself, the older officer decided she looked a lot better than he'd expected. There was a haunted pain shadowing her expression, but the desperation he'd last seen was missing. So it was with a slightly eased mind that he crossed to stand beside her.

With the XO at her elbow, Kara laid out her recommend changes, at least the ones she'd identified so far. She listed the pros and cons of each, responding confidently to his questions.

Listening as she presented her ideas, Tigh breathed a further sigh of relief. Whatever she'd experienced on New Caprica hadn't managed to completely destroy the young woman that enthusiastically shoved papers and diagrams his way. Though he wondered how far beneath the surface her calm actually ran.

From what he'd heard…not very far.

"These look like a good start. A bit…unorthodox, but the Admiral's rather partial to your radical style," the Colonel said. Then, as he tapped several sheets with a forefinger, "Do a report on these four plans and I'll review them with the Admiral and Apollo. See if there's any reasons we can't make them SOP. Good work, Captain," he gave her a nod of approval that had her straightening her stance.

"Thank you, Sir."

Rubbing his jaw, Tigh decided it was time to bring up the other reason for his visit. "I admit I asked the Admiral to see you today, and when he told me what you were up to," he waved at the workbench, "it seemed a two birds, one stone thing." Kara's eyes narrowed and she tensed.

"I wanted to see how you're doing, Captain," he said.

"Fine, Colonel," she briskly answered.

"Strange definition of fine you have there, Starbuck."

"Yeah. It's all relative, I guess, Sir," she said, shifting uncomfortably beneath his intense regard.

With a shake of his head, Tigh decided that he was going to have to be blunt to get anywhere with her. "Heard about Anders… Wanted to say sorry…and if, you know, you needed to talk about being in there, Kara. Well, I know what it was like."

Her eyebrows rose at his rare use of her first name, and she swallowed. So, he was willing for this to be between them, off the record. There _were_ questions she had. Questions about his time in the detention center. Probably questions only he could answer, assuming she had the courage to ask them. Familiar agitation forced her to pace the Admiral's work area. With a grimace to herself, she wondered if she were wearing a path on the carpeting.

"Kara?" Tigh prompted again.

"What happened?" She stopped to face him. "What happened to you…in there?" she asked, not needing to specify exactly where.

Tigh searched her face, wondering what she really wanted to hear—to know.

With a shrug, he said, "At first it wasn't so bad. I've stayed in rat-traps that were as bad, you know. Came in concussed so I'm a little hazy on early details," he explained before continuing, "But, they left me alone for better part of a week, I think. Then this Cavil, the preacher one from Caprica." He glanced over to see her nod that she knew whom he meant. "Now, that's one smarmy bastard. Tells me he knows I won't break easy, so he's decided to go straight to the good stuff. Actually said 'good stuff' if you can believe that." He gave a harsh laugh, then cleared his throat, feeling his mouth go dry as he recalled what came next.

Kara, recognizing his need, rose and filled a glass with water and silently handed it to him. He barely glanced at her as he took the tumbler and drained it.

"Bastard had a pair of Toasters hold me down while he plucked my eye out. Remember it looking like an egg when he showed it to me…after I'd stopped yelling, that is."He halted as he saw Kara's expression change, puzzled by her reaction, by the skepticism in the depths of the green eyes. "You don't believe me?" He said slowly, scrutinizing her. "What, you don't think that I screamed?" The flicker of her eyes again betrayed her. "Oh, I screamed alright, Starbuck. Hollered my bloody head off. Nothing unmanly in letting loose a good yell when an eye's being gouged out," he grimly stated.

"No, Sir," she hastily agreed.

"So, they make you scream, too, huh, Captain?" he slowly asked, frowning as he saw her go stiffly still, then convulsively swallow and wet her lip.

Tigh moved nearer, feeling an unaccustomed desire to offer her comfort, but stopped short, knowing that the young woman wouldn't likely accept it from him. Grimacing as he considered what it must have taken to reduce Starbuck to screaming, Saul shrewdly guessed that she probably saw it as proof of weakness.

_Didn't the fool girl know that everyone screams in the end?_

With his jaw jutting forward aggressively, "You called me weak once, remember?" he prodded.

Kara flinched, knowing she had no right to call anyone else weak. Not after all she'd done. But she owed him an answer. Forcing the shameful words out, even though knowing she'd just be confirming his original opinion of her, "I'm the frakkin' weak one…they broke me," she confessed in a voice hoarse with self-loathing.

"Godsdamnit, Starbuck. You really believe that?" he demanded, then grimaced at her jerky nod.

Latching a hand onto each of her shoulders, he gave her a shake, barely restraining the anger that insisted he keep shaking until some sense settled into the blonde head. "They had you in that frakkin' hellhole for _months_, Kara. I got a taste of what they put you through. Remember, I got first hand knowledge the hard way. The way they used words and pain to wring out all the hope, leaving nothing but dust." She twitched beneath his hands, but he didn't let it distract him. "I survived it, too," he said, the bitter memories roughening his voice, "And I'm telling you, that no one—_no one_—keeps from cracking if tortured long enough. What makes you think that you'd be the exception, huh?" He gave her another shake, demanding that she yield to his words.

As her expression closed off, he could tell she didn't agree, probably believing that she should've died before breaking. Well, frak her. Death was easy. Survival took guts.

He forced her to meet his gaze. "Am I weak?" When she didn't answer, "Captain Thrace, I asked you a question, and by-gods I'll have an honest answer from you. Do you think I'm weak?" he repeated.

Forced to face him, Kara considered what he'd said, what he'd asked. She had called him weak once, believing it at the time. Since then he'd proved himself over and again. Was he weak? Did it make a difference if he yelled—screamed—when the Cylons tortured him? He hadn't betrayed the Resistance, hadn't given away information, she knew that. She'd also seen how physically and emotionally damaged he'd been afterwards. Who was she to judge him because he hadn't kept stoically silent like one of those hokey heroes on the media screens?

"No, Sir. You're not," she finally said, lifting her eyes to his so he knew she meant it.

"Then why in all the seven-little-hells do you think you are?"

She couldn't keep eye contact now, staring at a point beyond his head. "I begged, Sir. I…and I let him..." She clamped her eyes closed, shame flaying her cheeks red. Forcing the rest out, " And I-I was going to do what they wanted. Going to collaborate," she confessed.

"What the frak are you talking about?"

"She was going to take Kacey. And I couldn't…I couldn't lose her." Her voice rising, "Only I did…_cause she was never mine_!" As Kara's face dissolving into grief and rage, she slapped Tigh's hand from her arm and backed away,. Turning from his startled regard, she swept her arms across the workbench, creating a whirlwind of papers and books as they scattered before her emotional storm.

With hands grasping the edge, Kara gave an enraged shout and lifted, flipping the Admiral's table onto its side with a rattling thud. Twisting, she grabbed the nearest stool and flung it skittering across the room. As she reached for another, arms abruptly wrapped around her torso, locking her own to her side. With another bellow, she shoved back against the restraining weight, driving them into the wall. A pained grunt from behind sent a spike of satisfaction through the fabric of her enveloping furor, and she thrust back again, only to find herself twisted around and face-planted into the wall.

Now there were two sets of hands securing her in place as she thrashed to get free, cursing and screaming, but unable to shake loose from their hold. Words were being shouted at her, yet they were lost in the folds of her frantic fury as she screamed, _"KACE… WHERE'S KACEY? KACEY!"_

"… _arbuck! Stop! Damnit, Thrace…"_

"…atch the elbow."

"_Stop it…righ…akkin now!"_

_"Captain! Kara!"  
_

"_Who's Kacey? STOP! Kara who's Kacey?"_ The cloak obscuring her mind finally parted as Tigh shouted Kacey's name in her ear.

One moment Kara was struggling beneath the restraining hands, then abruptly she stilled. Her breath rasped in and out in the resulting silence as both Tigh's and Mathias' voices also broke off as she yielded.

The XO found his voice first. "Frak-it-all, Thrace. You gone so far round the bend you circling back again, girl?"

"Colonel, I don't thin—" Mathias started to protest.

"Can it, Sergeant. She can speak for herself," he interrupted, dropping his hands and stepping back. "So, what the frak was all that about, Thrace? Who the hell's this Kacey?"

As the Marine also released her hold and edged a few paces to the side, Kara gave her shoulders a shake and turned. Without responding to his question, she crossed to the discarded stool and returned it to its spot by the overturned table. She ignored the Colonel and slowly gathered the mess strewn about the floor into an untidy pile before swiveling to meet the double-set of concerned eyes.

"Someone gonna give me a hand here?" she asked, tone and gaze flat. The woman Marine grabbed one end of the table as Kara took the other and they tipped it upright with a quick heave. After scooping up the documents and dropping them negligently back on the workbench, Kara ignored Tigh's scowl and settled into one of the chairs, folding her hands in her lap, and waited.

Her wait wasn't long.

"Got nothing to say for yourself?" Tigh asked. "Just tidy up and pretend it didn't happen, huh?" He moved across to lower himself into the seat facing hers. Both ignored Mathias as she took a spot by the hatch. "So…what's finally rattled out of that box of a head of yours, Starbuck?"

Silence met his words as Kara kept her eyes on her fingers, their white knuckles belying her otherwise calm appearance.

A thought came to him as he glanced around the Admiral's quarters. If she was afraid of how he, Saul Tigh, would judge her, how much more fearful was she of the Admiral's reaction? The belief that her father-figure would condemn her must be nearly unbearable for Kara. Well, she was going to have to work that out with the Old Man, though a word dropped in Bill's ear might help him confront the young woman's fears. Saul made a mental note to do just that as soon as the opportunity arose.

His gaze sharpened as he saw Kara loosen her hands long enough to wipe them along the sides of her khaki pants before crossing them protectively around her.

"Thrace, you Ok?" The unexpected gentleness in his voice startled an answer from her.

"Haven't been that in a long time, Sir," she admitted. "Sometimes I'm not even sure I made it out of there. That maybe I'm just dreaming all this," she said with a vague wave about her.

"You having flashbacks?" As her eyes flitted to his and away, he said, "Yeah, they get me at times, too. Never know when one'll hit," he confided to her. As she raised a questioning eyebrow, he said, "Yup, I get them, too. Not often…and they don't last long. But I _know _what it's like to be jerked back there." Casting a longing glance towards the Admiral's liquor bar, "Damn day to quit drinking," he muttered.

"I don't see them making you 'talk' about it, Sir," she said.

"Course not. No one but you knows about 'em. Not gonna to rat me out to the Admiral, now are you Starbuck?" he asked, giving her a wry look.

"Not as long as you can do your job, Colonel," she answered seriously, making it clear that she'd certainly say something if that changed.

"Way I've heard it, Starbuck, you've not been able to do yours. See, that's why _you _do need to 'talk'. Viper pilots gotta keep their heads in the game." He gave her a piercing stare. "You get yours on straight and you'll be back in the air flying again. We all want that," he firmly stated.

"I'm trying, Sir. I just…" she trailed off.

"Well, keep at it," he ordered. "You know how I feel about slackers. So, you just do it. That's the best way to say _frak-you _to the bloody Toasters. We survived. That's a hell of a victory, so don't let anyone take that from you," stabbing a finger at her, "Not even yourself, Kara." Seeing her slow nod, he decided it was time to get back to ship duties. With a wave towards the work desk, "Make sure you have those four contingency plans drawn up for me to pickup. Say late tomorrow afternoon. That'll give you the rest of today and tomorrow to work on them."

"I'll have them ready, Sir," she said, then hesitantly, "And Colonel…thanks."

"No proble—" The intercom cutoff his words with the announcement to pass the word that Colonel Tigh was needed in CIC. With hands on knees, he pushed straight and, with shoulders back, strode to the hatch, giving a parting nod to Mathias as she opened it for him.

Watching the precise way the Colonel carried himself, Kara realized that age might have slowed the man down, but the steel that kept the XO upright seemed unbreakable. If even _he_ was having troubles shaking off his experiences, and hadn't derided her for her confession—then maybe…just maybe…she could believe that she wasn't a weak screw-up…

…or come to in time.


	76. Chapter 76 EVA

Chapter 76 EVA

Starbuck climbed up the Raptor's ramp, and ducked into the dim interior. As the only other person on the scheduled flight, she took the co-pilot's spot with a small nod of greeting to the woman already seated at the pilot's station. Busy running the pre-flight checklist, Athena flashed her a distracted smile. After ticking off the last item, the darker pilot swiveled her head to the blonde settling in beside her.

"Good to have you aboard, Starbuck," she said, her welcome tentative, probably not sure what kind of reception to expect after their shared experience in the gym the night before.

"Athena," Kara neutrally acknowledged as she secured her straps in preparation for launch. Though SOP required the pilot and co-pilot to be fully suited, on milk runs between ships it was often disregarded, but Kara donned her helmet anyways, a tact statement that she didn't want to get into a heart-to-heart with the other woman. They'd be able to talk via the comm, but they'd be monitored by Galactica the entire time.

From her peripheral vision, she saw Sharon give a shrug and latch her own helmet in place. Then Athena cleared them for departure and nudged their ship away from Galactica's busy launch bay and aimed the Raptor's blunt nose toward their destination.

As the short trip to Colonial One passed in silence except for Athena's comm chatter with Colonial One's flight command, Kara reflected on the dinner she'd just finished with the Admiral. After last night…after her freak out with Tigh…she'd been withdrawn throughout the meal, sneaking peaks at Adama as he determinedly ignored the fact that he was carrying the entire conversation.

Her thoughts kept ricocheting between the memories that had returned to her and the Old Man's likely reactions when he found out. And she was sure he would. He'd promised no more secrets, and Laura wasn't going to let her keep this one from him. Kara swallowed and turned her gaze towards the dark expanse out the window, wishing that she could just take control of the Raptor and leave it all behind.

Approaching the President's ship, Kara saw a civilian shuttle nip in ahead of theirs. Whatever frakker was piloting the other craft obviously didn't know proper docking protocol, landing too near the entrance and forcing Athena to engage reverse thrust to keep them from plowing into the rear of the other vessel in the tight quarters.

As a result, Athena touched her craft down with a sharp jolt that rattled Kara's teeth and reminded her of how Boomer had earned _her_ callsign. She was about to make a caustic comment about the jouncing, when she felt a slight shudder and heard a sound that _did not _belong on their bird!

"_FRAK!" _both women said in unison as Athena kicked up the Raptor's engines, sending the shuttle streaking back into space and away from the civilian ship.

"Galactica, Athena. I'm declaring an emergency. Requesting SARs launch with explosives team onboard," Athena stated in a calm, clipped voice as she swung away from the President's ship and put distance between them and other nearby vessels even as Kara released her straps and flung herself into the passenger section.

"Going EVA," Starbuck called out as she grabbed a tether line from the storage unit and snapped the hook onto her suit ring and the other to another ring by the Raptor's door.

"Athena, Galactica Actual. State your sitrep, Lieutenant," the Admiral commanded, his gravelly voice echoing across their suit comms. Both women briefly ignored their commander as they each concentrated on their own task.

"Pop the hatch, Athena. I'm good to go," Starbuck's order come over the pilot's headset, sounding distant even though she was just feet away.

"Hatch up. Careful, Starbuck," Athena warned. "And for fraks sake, if you find something, don't poke at it, Ok," she added, her teasing words belied by the tension in her tone.

"Got it. No poking without prior permission," came back the cocky answer as Starbuck cautiously propelled herself through the open hatch into the blackness beyond.

Pulling herself along the Raptor's wing, Kara heard Sharon explaining their situation over the comm, "Galactica, Athena. Starbuck's gone EVA to investigate an…unusual sound and vibration that we detected on landing on Colonial One, Sir." Distantly, Kara heard worry creep into Sharon's voice now, "What's the status on that SAR bird, Admiral?"

"SAR's ETA at four minutes, Athena. Keep me appraised of situation," the Admiral said.

"Acknowledged, Sir."

"Starbuck, talk to me," Athena called to her.

By this point, Starbuck had swung herself upside down to get a look under the ship.

"Undercarriage appears nominal. No damage. No leaks. No uninvited guests. If you'd be so kind to keep your finger off the thruster, I'll swing aft," she replied and hand-walked with incautious speed towards the engines.

Time slowed for Starbuck as she squinted through her helmet at the blinking red light that didn't belong wedged between the mount assembly and thruster ring. She counted…one…two…three beats before the light's meaning dawned on her. Instinctively drawing back, she started to drift away from the Raptor and it's dangerous hitchhiker. Starbuck stretched her gloved hand forward…reaching with precise care towards the tether line. Closing trembling fingers around the thumb-sized cable, she flexed her arm to drag her floating form closer to the spacecraft's tail section.

Starbuck's focus narrowed to the rectangular object embedded like a tick into the ship. Glistening sweat beaded her brow and a twitch in her cheek kept time with the metronome rhythm of the signal. She tasted bile in the back of her constricted throat as her stomach twisted.

Wetting dry lips, Kara inhaled the stale air of her suit and triggered her comm. "Ok, good news, were still alive," she said, "Bad news, that could change any second now. Found a ticking pest in the thruster mounting. The pretty flashing lights are making me nervous. I say we bail now and let the boom boys have a look, Athena."

As Starbuck's words struck at her, Sharon was momentarily frozen. They'd raced away from Colonial One because SOP said to put distance between them and other vessels if the possibility of an explosion existed, but…she hadn't _really_ expected that to be a likelihood, let alone a certainty as Starbuck was suggesting.

"Galactica Actual here, copy you Starbuck," the Admiral said. "Evac now. Say again, evac right _now_! SARs will pick you up," his voice cut into Athena's paralysis, spurring her hands to slap at the release tabs, and she pulled her way towards the open back hatch. Even as Athena thrust her feet against the hatch's lip to give her momentum, she saw Starbuck unhooking from her tether. Athena was slightly ahead as they both propelled themselves away from the Raptor and its explosive passenger, each desperate to put distance from them and the ship, not wanting to be in the vicinity if the bomb blew.

With her back to the Raptor, Starbuck didn't see the explosion that tore the ship apart behind them, but she had the impression of light and saw debris streaming past her.

As a piece the size and shape of a tube of toothpaste tore into Athena's back, time slowed again. Kara saw the metal rake a trail diagonally across the shoulder blade of the other woman and lodge into her clavicle at an angle.

The wound itself wasn't likely life threatening, but the gaping tear in her suit meant that Athena's air was gusting out even as the deathly cold of space stole in. Knowing that she only had seconds to act, Starbuck stretched out towards the figure. She was nearly within reach. If she could _just _snag her cuff…_Got it! _

As Kara pulled Sharon's limp form towards her, she realized that the shard was protruding a good inch outward. _Frak, this is gonna hurt!_ she grimly thought as she pulled Athena's shoulder against her own front, intending to 'patch' the other woman's suit with her own body. Kara gasped as she felt the sharp fragment slice through her own flight suit and into her side. Breathing suddenly became much harder as each inhale sent fiery pain lancing outward from her punctured side.

Through her rasping breathes, Starbuck realized someone was calling hers and Athena's names, demanding to know their condition. Fighting against her dimming vision, she tried to get enough air to answer the Admiral.

"Star…buck, here," was all she managed before a cough racked her, driving out what little air she'd had, along with her ability to speak. She didn't even try again, just held the unconscious woman firmly against her and silently cursed the SARs team for taking so frakkin' long.

Fighting grimly against the encroaching blackness that threatened to move from the space around her and into her head, Starbuck clung to the smaller form in her arms. She knew that if she released her grip on Athena now, both of them would die before they could be rescued.

As the bright searchlight of the SARs Raptor pinpointed the pair from their transponder locators, Kara shut her stinging eyes against the sudden glare, knowing that she'd be able to let go in just a few more minutes. Just a little longer now…

Arms carefully pulled them in through the Raptor's hatch, sealing it once they were safely ensconced within. As internal environment was restored, the medics eased the two women to the floor and tried to separate them.

"Captain Thrace, we've got her. You can let go now," the senior medic, Paul Jacobs, said as he tried to pry the larger woman's arms lose from about the smaller one. When they finally managed to unclasp Starbuck, they rolled her onto her back and were shocked to see the blood and torn suits, both on Starbuck's torso and Athena's shoulder.

"What the frak?" the younger man said, staring from the fragment sticking out of one woman's shoulder to the open wound on the other woman.

"Stop staring, Thomas, and hand me the kit," ordered Jacobs as he knelt beside Kara and gently eased the blonde head from the helmet. He promptly heard her pained gasping and glanced again at the wound in her side. "Hell, she's punctured a lung," he muttered, swiftly unfastening the flight suit, then grabbing the chest tube pack and peeling it open. Working quickly, Jacobs slapped a sealant bandage over the sucking wound, then jabbed a needle into Kara's exposed side and drew back on the syringe. As he suctioned out the air, Jacobs could hear her breathing ease significantly as her collapsed lung refilled. Setting the syringe aside, he shifted his attention to their other patient.

Thomas had already removed the darker woman's headgear, and on examining Athena's back, Jacobs decided to leave the her treatment to Doc Cottle. The fragment would have to be surgically removed, but at the moment there was only minimal bleeding. A carefully applied bandage would suffice for now. He was concerned about the frostbite surrounding the wound, the skin obviously having been exposed to space when her suit had torn. Glancing again at Starbuck's wound, on noting that no frostbite was evident, Jacobs eyes widened slightly as he discerned what had happened and why.

"Frakkin' crazy," he muttered to himself, admiration coloring his thoughts as he proceeded with his triage workup on the two women as the Raptor rushed them back to Galactica.


	77. Chapter 77 Flak

Chapter 77 Flak

Anger seething with each stride, Lee stalked after the gurney carrying Starbuck's agitated form as his thoughts circled back to the cause of her latest injury. A bomb. Someone had planted a bomb on her Raptor.

_When I find the frakker, I'm going to…_

His thought trailed off as he stepped into sickbay and moved to stand beside Kara as Cottle did a quick inventory of her condition.

"What've you done to yourself this time, Thrace," the Doc asked with a shake of the head even as expert fingers inspected the wound in her side. Despite the morph the medic had given her, Lee saw her flinch beneath the cautious probing. "Hold still, Captain," Cottle absently said. Then, with a grunt, turned to Ishay, "Prep her for surgery," he ordered and moved away to inspect his second patient as she was wheel in.

Athena lay face down, the protruding shard of metal embedded in her shoulder now surrounded by red-stained bandaging. She moaned softly as Cottle lifted the gauze to survey the underlying wound. With her head turned sideways on the gurney, Sharon could see a short distance away where a nurse was working over another patient. As Ishay stepped to the side, Sharon saw blonde hair and realized that it was Kara.

Blinking confusion and pain from her eyes, "What happened," Sharon mumbled. A large shape bent over her, blocking her view. With a relieved sigh, she recognized Karl's worried frown and managed a slight smile of reassurance for him.

"You and Starbuck almost bought it," Karl answered, reaching a hand to stroke a wisp of dark hair from her eyes. "Someone planted a bomb on the Raptor," he added, seeing the confusion in her brown eyes. "But, you're both going to be just fine, right Doc?" he stated without shifting his gaze from hers.

"Yeah, you'll both survive. We'll get you into surgery and remove this little souvenir and treat the frostbite," Cottle said as he waved an orderly over, "Couple weeks of restricted duty and you'll be ready to go again."

As Cottle turned away, Helo caught his arm. "She _is_ going to be Ok?"

"That's what I said, Captain. Her wounds are relatively minor, so I'm taking Starbuck in first," At Helo's lifted eyebrow, "Her lung collapsed. The medic got her stabilized, but it could go again." The younger man's gaze shifted guiltily to Kara as he realized that, in his concern for his wife, he'd completely forgotten that his friend had also been injured.

Reading the tall man's expression, Cottle added, "Like I said, both are going to be just fine. You keep Athena here quiet and we'll get her in as quickly as we can. Let the orderly know if she needs more pain meds." With that, the white-haired physician ambled away to see to the last details of the surgery prep.

As Lee impatiently watched Cottle coming their way again, he couldn't help resenting anything that delayed getting Kara treated even though he knew the doctor had to triage both women. He looked down at the smaller hand clasped in his. He had earlier gripped her hand as the nurse bustled around them and now gave it a quick squeeze. A spark of gratitude lit the green eyes, pushing some of the pain aside as Kara locked her gaze to Lee's. Though she had acknowledged Lee with her eyes when he had stepped into the space the doctor had vacated, she hadn't yet spoken, probably because breathing was obviously so painful.

Now, with the return of the doctor, Lee reluctantly released his grip. "See you when you get out," he said as the nurse pushed Kara's gurney towards the surgical unit. He received a blonde nod in answer before she was wheeled out of sight.

After another moment of staring at the closed door, Lee turned and advanced on Helo where he stood beside Athena's gurney. The taller man looked up when he felt Lee at his shoulder.

"How's Kara?" asked Helo.

"How do you think? She's got a hole in her side and going into surgery," answered Lee, the anger he'd been holding in check leaking into his voice.

"Right…sorry, Do we know what happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Lee said, taking a step closer to Athena so he was in her line of sight. "What the hell _happened_ out there, Lieutenant?" he demanded.

"Hey! It wasn't her fault, so back off, Major," Helo said, his voice going low as he put a hand on Lee's elbow. Lee glared pointedly down at the restraining hand until Helo removed it.

"I know that, _Captain_," he said through gritted teeth. Forcing himself to take a breath, Lee worked his jaw to release the tension before turning his attention back to the injured woman. "Sorry, Athena. It's just…" he trailed off.

"Lee, I get it. You almost lost her again," Sharon said softly in response. Drawing in a careful breath, she related what she remembered of their 'adventure' in the Raptor before adding, "So, I don't know when the bomb was slipped into place. I'd just completed several runs and was with my bird the entire time on Galactica, and only there long enough to pickup Starbuck. Had to be sometime before that," she explained.

"Ok…Ok. I'll get a team to backtrack your course before Galactica," Lee said. Running a hand through his hair, he wondered who exactly the bomb had been intended for. The likely target was the President, but he couldn't rule out an attempt on the Cylon pilot, or even someone with a grudge against Starbuck.

"Do we know how you two got hurt?" Helo asked her.

"Last thing I remember is bailing out of the Raptor."

Nearby, a man repacking his medkit overheard her and hesitantly stepped closer to the three.

"I think I know what happened, Sirs," the lean man volunteered as their eyes shifted to him. "Specialist Jacobs. I was on the medvac team," he introduced himself. "When we found them, the Captain had the Lieutenant pressed against her, blocking the hole in the Lieutenant's suit with her own body." Seeing the confusion in the three sets of eyes, he pointed at the dagger of sharp metal jutting from Athena's back. "When the Captain saw you get hit, she probably knew you'd never survive with your suit torn. So…I think she pulled you into her…you know…to block the tear with her body," the medic mimed the action. "That's the how she got the hole in her side." As he finished, understanding flashed across each of their faces.

"Guess I owe her one," Sharon said into the sudden silence.

[ I I I I I ]

Approaching Kara's bed in recovery some two hours later, Lee tried to calm his racing pulse. Cottle had assured him that she'd be fine, but seeing her lying so still reminded him of coming here after her collapse. And now, nearly losing her to a bomb! His hands flexed at his side.

He'd been covering a CAP shift with Jouster when Athena's mayday came over the pilots' comm channel. A panicked tightening had twisted his gut when he'd heard Starbuck's voice and realized that she was on the Raptor, too. Then, at the report that their ship had just exploded, Lee's world had grayed out around him—until the SARs team reported that they'd recovered both Athena and Starbuck and were returning them to Galactica for medical attention.

_That_ had penetrated his dazed mind, and he'd immediately ordered an alert fighter to be launched to finish his remaining CAP so he could go confirm with his own eyes that Kara had survived. It might not have been proper military procedure, but Lee hadn't cared. Now he stood beside her trying to convince himself that the immense relief he felt was just that of a concerned friend…and nothing more.

Lee sank into a nearby chair he drew up and gazed at Kara as she slept, refusing to examine his current feelings for her closer. He contented himself instead with watching her slow breaths rise and fall in a reassuring rhythm. After a length of time at her bedside, he glanced at his watch and abruptly shot to is feet.

_Oh, frak! Dee. _

He'd forgotten his dinner date with her; they were suppose to meet over an hour ago, right after his CAP rotation.

Hurrying from sickbay, Lee cast a glance over his shoulder at Kara before resolutely focusing on what he'd say this time to appease his wife.


	78. Chapter 78 Excuses

Chapter 78 Excuses

He found her just stepping out of their cabin.

Lee met his wife's accusing glare with what he hoped was an appropriately contrite expression. The lines of her brow smoothed and the thinned lips relaxed as she gave a headshake.

"You're late. And I know why, so don't bother trying to come up with some other excuse, Lee."

"Why would I? Two of my pilots are in sickbay and we've had an attempt on the President's life," he said, hoping to keep their conversation limited to his duties.

"And you're telling me this has nothing to do with one of those pilots being Starbuck?" Dee gave a snort of disbelief.

Lee felt his ears redden slightly and wished, not for the first time, that he wasn't so prone to blushing. It had been his downfall many a times in the past, and Dee certainly knew how to read his responses. The return of her frown confirmed it now. With a sigh, he spun open their hatch and waved her to proceed him inside.

Once he'd closed them in, Dee wasted no time in turning on accusing gaze on him again.

"It's always Starbuck with you."

"Look, she's my responsibility. And besides, I don't know why you're letting this bother you," he said, trying to push on the offensive.

"Don't even _try_ to make this _my_ issue," she bit out. Dee put her hands on her hips. "Every since we've been back on Galactica, it seems all I hear from you is Starbuck this, or Kara that. First you're ranting on about her reckless attitude. Then it's about her boozing and hangovers."

Lee flinched as the memory of his berating Kara after the shower incident came to mind. His attention jerked back to Dee as she gave a harsh laugh.

"And see! Right there, Lee," she sharply said. "Who were you thinking of, huh? We can't even talk without you mooning off into thoughts about _her_."

"Now, that's not frakking fair!" he protested. "You're the one that brought Kara up. Of course it makes me think of her."

"But, Lee, it's all the time," her voice dropped as she let her arms fall to her sides. "You don't see it, do you? Don't realize how she pulls you in, and you go every time."

Now he was starting to get angry. "Kara's done nothing of the sort."

"She doesn't _have_ to do anything. Just being around is enough," her tone turned bitter, and she swung away.

Lee ran his hands through his hair, unsure what response to make to such a nebulous statement. Problem was, she was right. When Kara was on New Caprica with Sam, he'd been able to keep from dwelling on her, at least after the first couple of weeks. But, being back on the same ship together, and especially since learning of what she'd suffered, both on the planet and in her past, Lee had found his thoughts and feels thrown back into a whirlpool of confusion.

He sighed and moved to stand behind his wife, wrapping his arms around her petite frame. She stiffened first within his embrace, then he felt her relax and settle back against him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her ear. "Kara and I… There's just so much history between us. It's not like I can just make that all that disappear."

Dee turned within his arms, her doe-like eyes searching his. Then, with a tentative smile, "I know that, Lee. And I'm not asking you to. But, if you love me, you've got to keep some distance between you two. _We_ have to be the priority. Not Kara Thrace."

Struggling to keep his expression from betraying him, "I know. And I'll do it."

Even as he said the words, a small voice in his head mocked him. Lee shoved the taunting thoughts aside, ignoring that they sounded just like a certain pilot.


	79. Chapter 79 Repercussions

Chapter 79 Repercussions

"We're investigating the Prometheus and all small craft traffic around the time of the incident," Adama said, then took a swallow of his drink, wishing it were something stronger than water, but it was still early in the day and he had to get back to CIC after briefing the President on their progress on yesterday's bombing.

"So, we're calling it an 'incident' instead of an assassination attempt, are we Bill," Laura stated, giving him a slight smile as his gaze sharpened at her words. She knew he had avoided calling it an assassination because it made the attempt on her life more 'real'. An incident sounded less sinister—less threatening. And she knew why he'd done it, too. Neither had acknowledged how their relationship had changed since the groundbreaking ceremony on New Caprica, but each was acutely aware that it had.

"Whatever," he replied, choosing to ignore her allusion to his self-denial that she had nearly died—would probably have died if the bomb had gone off onboard Colonial One as planned. Instead, he continued with his preliminary briefing. "The engineering team has finished examining what we could recover of the Raptor, and I've a team interviewing suspects now. I expect a report within the next few hours from both groups."

"I'm sure you'll let me know what they find. In the meantime, I'm heading down to sickbay to check on Captain Thrace and Lieutenant Agathon," Laura said, rising from her chair. "I've been assured that both will recover fully from their injuries, but I wanted to thank them for their quick reactions. They saved more than just _my _life yesterday." Passing her tumbler to the Admiral, their fingers brushed, and if his lingered an extra moment, she didn't mind at all.

As they turned to walk side by side towards the hatch, "Besides," Laura added, "Kara and I didn't get a chance to talk."

"Can't it wait a few days?" he quietly protested. "The Doc had her in surgery for a couple of hours last night and when I visited her this morning she was still pretty out of it from whatever Cottle's giving her for the pain."

"I don't want to give her too much time to build back her defenses. It was too hard breaking through them the first go around." Laura stated, pausing as she recalled their session in the gym. She felt the tension in the man at her side increase. Putting a hand on his forearm, she turned him to face her. "Kara's a strong young woman, Bill. But she doesn't believe it herself, and that's one of the things that's undermining her recovery. That and she's terrified that if—_when_—you learn what happened on New Caprica, your feelings for her will change."

He grimaced and shook his head. "She should know better. After all we've been through together…"

"Really, Bill? Think about it. When she first came back onboard Galactica after New Caprica, how often did you visit with her? And I mean take time to speak with her, not just a passing greeting in the halls?" she asked, already knowing the answer even before he turned his head away.

"I should have been there…and I wasn't," he admitted, silently adding, _Just like with my sons. _

"You know I'm not judging you. But Kara has… And her trust in your feelings for her has been badly damaged." Then, giving a hand wave to indicate his cabin, "Having her here. Sharing your quarters with her has probably gone a long ways to restoring that trust—her belief that you still care about her—but she still fears that you'll judge her and then dismiss her from your heart again. And it hurts twice as much to lose something a second time."

He nodded, mentally vowing to not let Kara down again. He'd done that to too many of those in his personal life, and it was time to find a better way of balancing his professional demands and his personal responsibilities, including his relationship with _both _of his 'children'.

"When are you going to tell me what _did_ happen to her?" he asked.

"Hmmm, that depends on Kara. I have to head back to Colonial One right after I visit sickbay. So…unless you can come over there later tonight…?"

"I'll make the time," he said.

"Then, how about dinner and we can talk more after?"

"I'll be there," he promised, and not just to her.

[ I I I I I ]

"You again," Dr. Cottle greeted Laura in his usual gruff manner. "Tell me you're here to see someone other than me?"

"I'm hoping to visit with Captain Thrace and Lieutenant Agathon if they're up for company?" she responded.

"Well, you're in luck then. I decided to put those two in adjoining beds, got tired of them badgering me about how the other was doing. Saves us from their constant nagging for updates," he started to turn to show her the way when Laura spoke up.

"Doctor, I'd like to know the extent of their injuries and prognosis before seeing them, please," she requested, causing him to raise an inquiring eyebrow.

"Now why would that be necessary, Madam President?"

"I need to speak with Kara. And I need to know how far I can safely push her, from a medical standpoint that is," she answered, knowing that Cottle could be very protective of his patients.

The physician studied her for a moment before answering, "I removed a hunk of metal from Lieutenant Agathon's shoulder. She's sore, but should be fully recovered in a couple of weeks with some physical therapy," he paused long enough to dig out one of his never-ending supply of cigarettes before continuing, "Now, Captain Thrace's injury was more serious. The shard penetrated her chest wall, collapsing a lung. But she'll be up for limited duty in a week, and full duty about two weeks later."

"Do I specifically need to avoid upsetting her, Doctor?" Laura asked.

"Do you plan on upsetting her, Madam President?" he retorted, not bothering to hide the censure in his voice.

"Not necessarily, but it's possible."

Cottle studied his yellowed fingers a moment before answering, "I'd _prefer _if you kept her calm. If she gets upset enough, her lung could collapse again, unlikely but possible. First sign that she's having _any _trouble breathing, you call me," he wagged a finger at Laura in warning.

"I understand, Doctor," she said, bending her head slightly in acquiesce to his instructions.

"Ok, then. This way. And don't let either of them try to weasel you into promising to get them released early," he admonished. "I'll kick them out when they're ready, and not before."

"I understand, Doctor," she repeated, earning a slight lifting of his dour lips at her obliging reply.

She followed Cottle through to a back section of the Life Stations. Pausing at his signal to wait beside the Marine guard as he stepped inside the curtained enclosure. Laura gave the young soldier a reassuring smile, but was focused on the raised female voice she heard protesting whatever the doctor had just said. She twitched reflexively as the curtain was abruptly flung aside by the physician to reveal his two bed-bound patients. Flicking her gaze over the scene, Laura surveyed the young women as she moved to stand in the three foot area between their beds. They were propped up by mounds of pillows, and both appeared a little woozy, probably from the pain medication.

"They're all yours," Cottle said, stepping away. "Remember I have other patients. No loud parties," he added as he closed the curtain behind him.

"Captain Thrace, Lieutenant Agathon," she gave each a brief, acknowledging nod, then turned her head sharply as she heard a scrap behind her as the cloth barrier parted and a nurse slid in a chair before exiting again.

Returning her attention to the two women, "Ladies. I wanted to give both of you my official 'Thank You' for your actions yesterday," she said giving them a slight headbob from her position standing beside the recently added chair.

"Uh, anyone would've done the same thing," Starbuck replied after flicking a questioning glance towards the opposite bed.

"I disagree, Captain," Laura's sincere dark eyes locked with green ones. "It was only through your two's skill, reflexes and professionalism that the bomb exploded in space, and _not _on my ship."

"You're welcome, Madam President," Athena spoke up for the first time, adding with a grin at the blonde across from her, "Starbuck, just tell her she's welcome. It's not polite to argue with the President of the Twelve Colonies."

Sending a friendly glare in the brunette's direction, Starbuck parroted, "You're welcome, Madam President."

Giving a mental, amused shake of her head as she settled into the seat, Laura was reassured by the interplay between the two. Yet, the obvious resurgence of the Starbuck persona had her wondering how much of a fight she faced this morning getting through to Kara.

"Of course, that's only the official reason for my visit," Laura said, watching as wariness pushed aside the playfulness in Kara's expressive face. "You missed our meeting. And while I agree you had a good excuse, we still have things to discuss…and decide."

Watching the blonde head duck, the older woman let an audible sigh escape. Hearing the slight rustle of cloth, Laura looked over to see Sharon readjusting herself on the piled pillows. She gave the darker woman a quirk of the head towards the opposite bed and received a nod of agreement. It was good to know that she could rely on her continuing support in dealing with Kara. Returning her regard to the blonde, she saw Kara worrying her lower lip.

"Kara, what happened with Sam…and Leoben was traumatic. I—" Laura started.

"Traumatic?" Starbuck interrupted, voice now a bitter mutter. "Try a frakkin' nightmare. I just want to wake up now." Her hands wrung the blanket they clenched.

"Yes, it was a nightmare. One you survived." Laura leaned forward, putting a hand atop one of the twisting pair and stilled it. She was relieved that Kara neither flinched nor struck out at the contact. "Nightmares are easier to face in the light and with others beside us." The blonde head shook in denial. Laura gripped the hand beneath hers. "Kara, sharing a burden makes the load lighter."

"That's a load of crap." Kara yanked free from Laura's grip. "It's my mess and I don't any need help with it," she belligerently said.

"You know, Starbuck. You're full of crap," Sharon's sharp voice cut across the narrow distance, "You're a mess and believe me, and with a hole as deep as you're in, you need all the help you can get." Shocked green eyes snapped to Sharon's dark ones before flicking away.

"You're right," both women heard Kara's mumbled reply, almost an apology.

"Damn straight I am," Sharon gave a smirk before adding, "I believe Laura was about to discuss what she should tell the Admiral?" raising her eyebrows at the older woman to take over again.

Laura took Sharon's lead, "It's a simple choice, Kara. Either you can tell the Admiral what happened…or I can do it for you. He doesn't need details. Bare facts about what happened with Leoben…and your reactions," she neutrally stated.

Observing Kara's taut features further whiten beneath their hospital pallor, Laura didn't miss the convulsive swallowing and wondered if she should get a bowl or something, just in case. As she listened to Kara's rasping breaths, Laura decided to wait out the panic attack, hoping it would quickly pass before she was forced to call for Dr. Cottle.

"Starbuck, you pass out and I'm telling the whole squad you fainted," Athena taunted. "That Starbuck had _the vapors._"

That yanked a jade-eyed glare Sharon's way, but is also seemed to pull Kara from the edge of the flashback. Laura felt her own held breath release as Kara's eased into a more natural rhythm. Considering Sharon's use of taunts, Laura wondered if she should try the same approach? No. Starbuck and Sharon—originally as Boomer and eventually Athena—had an established a way of relating that didn't exist between Laura and Kara. If she tried the same thing, Kara was likely to assume she was being serious, with disastrous results. She was just thankful to now have a partner with which to tag-team their reluctant opponent.

"Kara, you know the Admiral loves you. There's nothing you can tell him that will change that," Laura said, pulling the blonde's gaze back to her. "I won't lie. It _will _be hard for both of you. But give him your trust and he won't fail you."

"I failed _him_," Kara ground out.

"No. You didn't," contradicted Laura . "You survived. That's all he cares about. That you survived and returned to us." She stood and moved closer, reaching out to stroke a stray lock of hair from the vulnerable face. She'd seen both Adamas do the same gesture and was mildly surprised that she and Kara had reached a point in their relationship where it felt natural.

"I'll tell the Admiral what happened," Laura gently said. "You concentrate on healing, because I intend to recommend that you be returned to flight status as soon as Dr. Cottle clears you for it."

The green eyes widened and a light came into them Laura hadn't seen in awhile. Kara didn't speak, just gave Laura a nod of gratitude.

Laura added a caveat, "On one condition, you come over to Colonial One three times a week for us to talk."

"I don't need—" Starbuck started, breaking off as she received a glare from both women.

"It's not up for negotiation, Captain," Laura firmly said. "You want to fly again, we continue to talk."

This time Kara's nod was reluctantly.

Laura turned to leave, adding over her shoulder, "I'll have my people call yours. For now, you two get some rest. You both deserve it."

Then the President swept out of Life Stations, leaving the pair of patients slightly bemused by her visit.


	80. Chapter 80 Food For Thought

Chapter 80 Food For Thought

Wiping his lips with the cloth napkin, Admiral Bill Adama leaned against the chair back with a contented sigh.

"That's the best meal I've had in…well, since I can remember, Madam President," he said, though, still wishing for a piece of bread to sop up the remaining gravy that was swirled across his plate.

"I know what you mean," Laura agreed. Then, at his inquiring look, "Believe me, Admiral, chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy are a rare treat even on Colonial One—despite what others may think." She grimaced, know how much flack she'd get from the Quorum if they knew she was enjoying this meal when they were about to enact fleet wide rationing.

Glancing from his forlornly empty dish to the redhead sitting across the narrow table, Adama asked, "So, what's the special occasion?"

"How about survival," she replied, then added, "I abhor those that use their position for personal privilege, but after the recent…_incident_," she said, referring to their discussion from the morning, "I decided to treat myself to a good meal. Especially since I would have the pleasure of your equally excellent company," voice softening as her dark eyes sparked off his startlingly blue ones.

He waved at the dish-strewn setting, "A last meal of sorts, Laura, just in case?" Silently wondering if she was more shaken by the assassination attempt than she'd let on?

"Nothing so dramatic, Bill," like him, dropping the formality between them as her lips quirked up with her reply. "Andrew, my cook, had this repast set aside for my upcoming birthday. I just decided to move the celebration forward by several weeks and limit the invitation list to one."

"I'm honored, but you've caught me without a birthday gift."

"Not at all. I've given you two weeks advance notice," she countered.

"In that case, I insist that you come to Galactica for your birthday dinner." With a look at the remains of the current meal, "Not that I can offer anything as good as tonight's."

"You know, I insisted that Andrew prepare this meal tonight. He was reluctant, but it's amazing what happens when the President—or Admiral—_insists _on something." Laura took a sip of her water before adding, "After a lifetime of fighting red tape, it's librating having scissors to snip right through it."

Her eyes darkened as she considered the other side of the privilege coin. She looked up and caught Bill's level gaze, knowing that he was intimately familiar with the weight that came with the perks of their positions. They carried humankind's fate on their souls, and a single stumble could send them all rolling downward to smash apart that future on the rocks of their failure.

Thanking all the Lords of Kobol for the partnership of this man of tenacity and integrity, Laura smiled with more passion than she usually showed. Bill's face, craggy from life's engravings, absorbed her warmth and, as sun-stroked stone, radiated it back at her. He reached between the debris of their banquet, seeking her touch as dessert. Settling hers within his larger hand, Laura contemplated how well they fit together. His restrained strength clasping her fingers infused her with confidence in their joining.

A knock announced the steward's arrival to collect the used settings and they reluctantly broke their connection.

Except for a polite thank you to the young man as he cleared their table, Laura remained silent, watching his efficiency that didn't completely hide the underlying shyness in her presence. Between the blonde hair and reserved manner, the steward reminded her distantly of Kara. Despite Starbuck's flamboyant reputation, Laura had always been struck by the younger woman's reticence during _their_ interactions, even their more recent ones. With all she'd learned about Kara's past, it now made sense how she reacted to a female authority figure. Fleetingly, Laura wondered if Kara had been the same with Admiral Cain.

Her thoughts reminded Laura of the real reason for the Admiral's visit tonight. Once the blonde server had departed, she stood and gestured to the padded chairs that lined the suite's walls.

"Would you like a drink?" she offered, moving towards the mini-bar, "Kara and I have certainly made inroads into _your _supply."

She saw his features tighten, "Maybe later," he replied, "I have a feeling I'll be needing it." He moved to the indicated chairs, waiting politely for her to sit before lowering himself into his own.

The leather seat gave beneath her weight as Laura settled against it's backrest. Crossing her trousered legs, the woman ran her thoughts over what she intended to share with Bill about the experiences of his surrogate daughter.

Taking a breath, Laura began, "After failing to break Kara through physical means, the Cylons changed tactics, focusing instead on things to undermine her emotional and mental stability. In this they succeeded," she paused as the Admiral shook his head in denial. "Yes, they did, Bill. They broke her… More than once. But what they discovered was that Kara has a remarkable resilience. Each time they probably thought they'd cracked her resistance, she'd quickly recover. In this, I believe we have her mother to thank," Laura couldn't keep the distaste of that admission from her voice.

"I can't see how," he protested.

"Kara grew up getting literally and figuratively beaten down. To survive, she learned how to rebuild her sense of self, over and over. Her self-image is badly distorted after all those years of abuse, but the bedrock of it is her refusal to let anyone keep her down." Becoming aware of how tightly she was gripping the chair arms, Laura forced her hands to relax before continuing, "So, when the Cylons _broke _her, unlike most people, she didn't _stay _broken. Kara blocked out the memories that were too traumatic and pulled herself back together each time. It helped her survive, but the memories are still there, and they've been making themselves felt."

Listening to her explanation, the Admiral could intellectually acknowledge her point, but…

"You still haven't told me what the bastards did to her," he gruffly said, refusing to let his gaze drop from Laura's sympathetic one.

"Sam Anders," she said, then took a breath and went on, "They used her love for her husband against her. First, making her beg for him and then…" Laura stopped, trying to control her building nausea at what came next. Seeing the distress in her face, Bill leaned across and took her cold hand in his.

"Just tell me."

"Leoben chained Kara to Anders' corpse."

Put bluntly it didn't sound so horrific. But watching Bill work his way through the implications of her words, Laura saw the blood drain from his face. Saw him swallow, and she felt his clasp painfully tighten about her fingers.

"For how long?" he forced through gritted teeth.

"Best guess…over a week but under two," she replied, then continued, "It was during that time that they first tried withholding food and water. When that failed, Leoben started force-feeding Kara instead." Her hand was starting to ache from how hard Bill was gripping it, yet she refused to deny him what little comfort she could offer. Forcing herself to get it over with, "After a time, it must have become unbearable for her…she broke again. And Leoben took…took advantage of her," she said, knowing that the euphemism wouldn't be lost on the older man.

Abruptly dropping her hand, Bill rose to stalk back and forth in the confined area of her chamber. On the third pass, his fist shot out, striking the bulkhead with a dull thud and leaving a smear of red marking the spot.

Hurrying to him, Laura grabbed his bleeding hand, refusing to let the distraught man smash it into the unyielding metal a second time.

"_Stop_. This doesn't help Kara," she said. "And you know she'll guess why you're hurt, and blame herself. Do you want that?"

Anguish dragged at his features, but he didn't resist when Laura pulled him into an embrace, wrapping her arms around his chest and hugging as tightly as she could. She felt the trembling of bunched muscles and his harsh breathing brushed her ear as he dropped his head onto her shoulder, seeking refuge from the images and emotions her revelation evoked.

He thought he'd been prepared. Had readied himself to hear what had been done to Kara, what she'd endured. He'd been wrong—wasn't ready—could never be. Hearing how the Cylons had physically tortured his girl had been bad enough. But this… And he wasn't even being told the details. Two weeks…two frakkin' weeks chain to a decaying body. Her husband's body. Then…_when she broke, Leoben took advantage. _Tears escaped from eyes squeezed tight as he absorb the depth of Kara's torment.

He held onto Laura, letting her embrace encompass him as he fought for control. Finally easing back so he could read her expression, he forced words from his constricted throat.

"Is that it," he asked, "or is there more?"

"I don't honestly know yet. I hope that's everything," she said, trying to comfort him. "She survived, Bill. That's the most important thing to remember."

"But they broke her. She's broken and I don't know if…" he said.

"Remember what I said about her not staying broken," Laura said as she reached up to wipe the moisture from the face of this man she adored. "She's already come back so far. Cottle has her and Sharon in adjoining beds. And she's talking about what happened. Letting me in. Could you have imaged _that _just a week ago?"

"The nightmares and flashbacks?" His eyes pleaded with hers for reassurance.

"I think it's time for her to be taken off the sleeping pills, preferably while still in Life Stations where she can be monitored," Laura suggested, then added, "The flashbacks…well, she slipped into one today when we spoke about Leoben, but she came out of it quickly, and without the lingering shock like in the past. She's slowly overcoming them."

"So, what now?" he asked.

"I've instructed her to come to Colonial One three times a week, with your permission of course," she said. "Kara still has a lot of issues. I think what she needs now is just someone to talk too. No more interrogations. Just girl talk."

"Girl talk? Starbuck?"

"Yes, Admiral, girl talk," she firmly stated with a nod. "That young woman needs an experienced feminine point of view. Another woman with which to share her feelings and fears. On New Caprica, before the Occupation, she use to come to my school and we'd talk. Nothing important. Just about what had been happening around the colony. It was because of those talks that I believe I was able to get through to her now."

He raised his eyebrows at her revelation. He'd had no idea that Kara had sought Laura out prior to the Occupation. Thanking the gods that he'd thought to ask her to help, Bill lifted a hand to tenderly cup one side of Laura's face.

"Thank you," he said, his gruff voice warmed by the depth of his gratitude.

"You're welcome," she answered, pressing her palm to the hand on her cheek, and gave the smile she reserved for only him. "I also told her that I'd speak with you about returning her to flight duty."

"You think she's ready?" he asked.

"Bill, she's a mess," she said, "but remember that Kara's been functioning for years before New Caprica. She just needs to find her balance again. I understand that a big part of her identity is wrapped up in being Starbuck the Viper pilot. I think that by the time the doctor clears her to fly, she'll be ready in other ways, too."

"I don't want to lose her again," he admitted.

"You can't protect her," Laura said as she gazed at him with understanding. "She's still Starbuck, and the Fleet needs her out there protecting us. We can try to protect her from herself, as much as she'll let us, but you have to let her do her job."

"I know, it's just…" His eyes seemed to absorb her knowing warmth, finding some comfort in their compassionate regard.

"You're tired," she stated, seeing the weariness that slumped his spirit as well as his shoulders. "Having Kara stay with you was instrumental in helping her, yet it might be time for her to move back in with the crew. She needs to get use to people again, and you need your privacy back."

"I haven't minded."

"I know that. We'll see how she does when Dr. Cottle takes her off the medication," she said, then glanced at her watch. "Speaking of which, you still need to visit him tonight. Let him look at that hand, and you two have some things to discuss."

"Yes, Madam President." The barest of smiles touched his lips before he leaned forward and lightly kissed her, then stepped back from their embrace with a parting, "Goodnight, Laura."


	81. Chapter 81 Explanations

Chapter 81 Explanations

"Well, how are my favorite two ladies this afternoon?" Helo greeted the blonde and brunette as he stepped into the space between their hospital beds. Relief pulled his grin wider as he surveyed the faces that were precious to him, each in their own way. Starbuck's smirk was a welcome sight, yet it was Sharon's warm look that truly melted him.

Helo dragged up a chair and took a seat near enough to his wife that he could take her smaller hand in his, which he promptly did with a stroke of his thumb across the soft ridge of knuckle.

"Helo, you'd better be bringing us either news or food, cause the stuff they serve here is crap," Starbuck said, cautiously sliding herself up into a sitting position.

"Forget the food. What did you find out about the bomb?" Athena insisted from her position on her side, still too painful to lay fully on her back after just three days since the Raptor's explosion.

"Ah, the impatience of the weaker sex," he teased his captive audience, eyes flicking back and forth between the beds' occupants.

"If you don't want me to show you weaker, you'd better start coughing up what you know, Helo," Starbuck warned as she lifted her blanket as if to follow through on her threat.

"Ok, I'll talk, just don't hurt me," he raised his hands in surrender. Then the teasing tone left his voice as he looked at Athena, "We traced your flight route back to the Prometheus. Once we realized that the terrorist had to be within sight with a triggering device to know when to blow the bomb, we narrowed the search for vessels that had filed flight plans that put them nearby at the proper time."

"So, the bomb _was _meant for the President, not me or Starbuck," Sharon stated.

"Yeah. They had plenty of time to blow it before or after you picked up Kara on the Galactica," Helo confirmed her reasoning. "We interrogated one of the men, and he said they were to wait until your Raptor was onboard Colonial One before blowing it. They were caught off guard when you suddenly flew away after barely setting down. Guess they didn't know what to do, thought maybe you'd go back. But when they saw Starbuck going EVA by the engine, they panicked and decided to set it off then. Probably hoping to destroy any evidence." Helo's features grimly stiffened as he related just how close the two pilots had come to being part of the drifting wreckage of the Raptor.

A chill caused Sharon to shiver at their narrow escape. She glanced over to the side and was surprised to see Kara shaking her head, a dark brooding frown drawing her features taut. As she noticed Sharon's questioning look, Kara averted her face.

"What is it, Kara?" Sharon asked, her tone partly coaxing yet with a firm note underneath. As the blonde head stayed turned away, she thought that Starbuck was going to refuse to answer. Then the blonde swiveled back to meet Sharon's intent look.

"Just thinking about my 'Special Destiny'. Thinking that maybe I _can't _die. At least, not until I've fulfilled this _thing _I'm suppose to do, whatever the frak it is." Athena blinked at that statement, but she quickly refocused as Kara continued, "Course that doesn't mean those around me won't die. I leave a lot of bodies behind me. Zak. Sam. And how many times have I almost gotten Lee killed? And now you," she quietly said.

"Starbuck, I swear you've got to be the most self-absorbed person I know," Sharon stated, her voice sharp, cutting through the other woman's thoughts. "Despite any 'destiny', things don't happen just because of you. _Gods, Kara! _Not everything's your fault," Sharon said as she raised herself up on an elbow to better meet the green eyes. "Besides, if you look at it from another way, the only reason I'm alive today is because of you," she asserted. "You went EVA and found the bomb before it went off. And I _know _what you did when my suit tore. So, don't give me your _'I'm death, stay away' _Kara Thrace crap. It doesn't fly here," Sharon punctuated her point with a finger thrust at the other woman.

As Kara's eyes held the dark ones across from her, the pained bitterness slowly faded. "Self-absorbed?" Starbuck said, a small chuckle breaking free before she smothered it as her side reminded her not to laugh. "Well, what do you expect after a lifetime of being told I'm special," she lightly shot back at her bunkmate.

"I think they meant 'small school bus' special in your case, Starbuck," Helo piped in. "I remember how much help you needed to get through astrocalc in Flight School.

"Yeah, I remember too, Karl," her voice lost the teasing edge, sincerity adding weight, "I'd never have passed without your help… Did I ever thank you?"

"What? Starbuck say thank you? You wouldn't even admit that you needed help as I remember it. I had to pretend I needed a study buddy. Trick you into working with me," he said, fondly remembering poring over textbooks in their dorm; that is, on the nights Kara wasn't dragging him out to bars.

Seeing Karl's handsome face soften from the recalled memories, it dawned on Kara just how much she cared for him, and so many of the others around her. But mostly, how much she owed to so many of those same people.

Clearing her throat, "Um, yeah, well. Thank you," she said, the words feeling unnatural but necessary, "For then…and the other times, and…for what you both did…the other night," she added in a rush, looking at Sharon now.

"You're welcome, Kara," Sharon said, knowing how difficult it was for her to open up like this.

Helo decided to change the subject before Kara resorted to her usual defensive reaction when things got too personal. By this point, Starbuck would usually have started to make nasty comments meant to drive others safely away. Wanting to prevented that, Helo stood up from the hard chair. As he stretched his tall frame, extending his arms over his head, both women heard an audible pop from his back. He was surprised when a giggle escaped Kara, and he caught Sharon's admiring eyes.

"Damn, Helo," Starbuck lightly teased, "I'll give you a cubit to do that without a shirt," noting, not for the first time, how nicely muscled her male friend really was beneath his double tanks.

Sharon wagged a finger in the blonde's direction, "Sorry, Starbuck. My man only strips for me now."

"Is that all I am to you two? Just a good-looking body, huh?" he asked, giving them a mock pout. A pout on Helo's lips was a rare wonder and drew another giggle from Kara.

Helo choose to ignore the twin grins and said instead, "So, no one wants to know who was behind the bombing and why?"

Sharon patted the edge of her bed, "Have a seat, dear Herald and tell us your tale," she said as she awkwardly slid over to give him more room. Not waiting for a second invitation, he settled beside her, running a gentle hand up the arm held fast in the sling.

"Anything you command," came his soft reply as he leaned in to kiss her.

Kara looked away, suddenly feeling like she was intruding on a private moment. A moment she would give anything to be sharing with two certain men. Her heart and head were conflicted as usual over which man she really wished were here right now. Not that it hardly mattered, neither were possible with one dead and the other married. A dark wave swept in, drowning all the light within her as the depression washed through her once more. She clamped her eyes shut, fighting not to let it pull her under this time like it had so often since her return from New Caprica.

Karl glanced over at Kara and saw the closed eyes and drawn face, worry immediately replaced the smile on his own features.

"Kara?" he gently called her name. "You hurting? Need me to get Cottle or some more morph?" As the lids lifted from green eyes, he saw that the shadows that had also lifted for a time, had returned in force.

"No, I'm fine. Just getting a little tired I guess," she lied, knowing that neither of her friends believed what she said, just not up to trying to explain to them the real problem.

"Ok, Kara. I'll make this short, then let you two can get some rest," Karl said, accepting her explanation at face value. "The bombing was planned by a splinter group of religious fanatics that had decided that Laura Roslin had to fulfill her role as the dying leader. They reasoned that only through her death would we find the way to Earth." He shrugged at their twin frowns, then continued, "And since she was no longer dying from cancer, she obviously needed their help to complete _her _'Special Destiny'," he explained. "Lucky for us, they weren't very competent and did a poor job of securing the explosives in place. We rounded up a total of twelve followers and their leader. So, the President's safe once more, due to you two and your quick thinking."

"Good. Glad we got 'em," sighed Kara as she eased herself flat in her bed. Fatigue really was pulling her down, so she didn't have to fake the weary smile she gave Karl as he kissed his wife and bade them both goodbye until later.

Sharon studied Kara across the short distance and was concerned enough to speak up, even though she already knew the answer, "Are you sure I shouldn't call Cottle, you look like you need something?"

"There's no pills for this, so just drop it, Ok," Kara quietly requested as she shifted onto her good side, turning her back to the other woman's searching stare.

Sharon watched the blonde for another minute before deciding that there really wasn't anything she could do right now. Maybe later Kara would open up again. Considering where they were just a couple of weeks ago, Sharon was thankful that she and Starbuck had made as much progress as they had. But, right now, neither woman was up to a pushing match so it would just have to wait for another time.

Shutting her own eyes, Sharon hoped for an undisturbed nap. The previous night Kara had woken them both with a single scream that tore her upright, gasping. By the time the night nurse had rushed in, Sharon was already sitting and awkwardly holding Kara as she struggled to bring her breathing back to normal. The Cylon woman had silently waved the nurse away, continuing to hold her friend until the shuddering finally subsided.

The nightmare hadn't surprised Sharon, not after Cottle had informed them that he was taking Kara off the sleeping pills. When she'd gently probed, Kara had hesitantly talked about the sessions with the Six. Listening to her recount the pain and fear of those weeks, Sharon ached for all Kara had endured. It had taken hours before either woman had been able to get back to sleep.

Now, as Sharon shifted, trying to find a position that didn't hurt her shoulder, she hoped that the day would come when Kara's eyes no longer seemed so haunted by shadows and remembered torment.


	82. Chapter 82 Nightmares

Chapter 82 Nightmares

Kara's low moans rose to fearful shouts that brought Sharon to her side with a nurse only seconds behind. The two women tried to hold Kara down as her thrashing threatened to topple her from the bed. That only seemed to increase her panic and she fought them, eyes still shut and yelling incoherently as she writhed within their grasp.

Into that chaotic scene Cottle entered.

The doctor assessed the situation and picked up a partially full glass from the side stand. Without pausing, he tossed the contents directly into the face of the struggling woman and watched as Kara's eyes snapped open at the impact of the cold water. Confused shock had her blinking at the looming faces and she instinctively shrank away from them, the panic still driving her gasping breaths.

He waved both women to released their hold, and they stepped back, quite willing to turn her over to the doctor's care. Kara jerked from his touch as Cottle reached forward to check her pulse. With a quirked eyebrow he refrained from insisting on examining her, instead, assessed her condition with experienced eyes only.

Deciding that she was medically in no danger despite the physical evidence of shock, he tried to calm her, "Captain Thrace, you're in sickbay on Galactica. No one's going to hurt you, now." Without breaking his gaze with Kara's, Cottle directed a command to the nurse, "Jenny, go get some dry linens for the Captain." He sat on the edge of the bed, seeing again how she recoiled from his presence. After clearing his throat, "So…you want to tell me about it?" he asked. At her silence, he sighed. "Ok, we'll let it go for now."

When the nurse hurried in with clean sheets he stood and pulled up the nearby chair, "Have a seat, Starbuck, and let Jenny change the bedding." When she didn't budge, just flicked a fearful glance between Athena and himself, he rubbed his forehead, perplexed by her regression. While he'd been prepared for the nightmares, this whole episode worried him. Her protracted panic seemed off-kilter, and a memory he couldn't quite pin down told him he was missing something.

Turning to his second patient, "Lieutenant Agathon, I'd like a word with you," He handed her a robe and twitched his head indicating for her to come with him. Sharon followed the doctor to another curtained room with a rumpled bed minus its occupant.

Seeing the direction of her eyes, he confirmed, "Yeah, been staying here the last two nights. Kinda thought there'd be trouble. You seemed to have things in hand last night when I looked in, so I went back to bed." He moved over to the side stand and took a fresh pack of cigarettes from the drawer, pulling one free but not lighting it as he turned again to the young officer. "So, what's different about tonight?"

Athena ran her unencumbered hand through her hair before raising tired eyes to his. "Not sure. Only been asleep for a short time when I heard her cry out. She woke quickly last night, but tonight…well, we couldn't seem to break her out of the nightmare. And the way she's still freaking out? It's like she's terrified of us. I've never seen her like that with _you _before."

"Noticed that, too." He rubbed a finger alongside his nose, again having that niggling feeling. Tapping the unlit cigarette on a tray, he decided to do some research. _Not _tonight, though. Shifting his attention back to the dark-haired woman before him, he noted the dark circles under her eyes. "The Admiral and I had talked about letting Starbuck go back to the officer's quarters. But with these nightmares…especially the way she reacted tonight…" He shook his head. "Now, you're well enough to release back to that husband of yours. Probably get more rest than staying here," he said.

"Kara's not ready yet. If you put her back in the bunkroom while she's having these dreams, she'll just start skipping out at night like she did before," said Sharon, absently adjusting the sling strap where it was rubbing uncomfortably along her shoulder. Shaking her head in an unconscious echo of his, she said, "Let us stay here a little longer. Give me more time to work with her."

"Ok," Cottle agreed, then, "Guess we'd better get back. See if Jenny had more success getting her to cooperate than I did." He rather suspected that Kara's fear had been centered on the fact that he was a doctor and Athena a Cylon.

With a wave for her to precede him, he shuffled back to see Jenny putting the final folds to the bed sheets while Kara stood off to the side, arms crossed about her chest. At least she looked less inclined to bolt now. Her complexion reddened as he and Athena returned, and she quickly dropped her gaze from theirs.

"Got it from here, Jenny," he dismissed the nurse with a nod. Leveling his evaluating gaze on his problem patient, he was relieved to see that she had shaken off the intense fear that had gripped her earlier. "You. Into bed," he pointed from Kara back to the freshly changed sheets. "I'll give you something to help you get back to sleep, for tonight only." Cottle didn't miss the relief that briefly flickered across her drawn face. Kara silently downed the pill he handed her and crawled back into bed as ordered, and then promptly rolled away from the two pairs of worried eyes, all without saying a word to either.

Cottle gave a resigned shrug in response to Athena's unspoken concern. He closed the curtain behind him and headed back to his own bed, doubting that sleep was as likely to return to him as easily as to his medicated patient.


	83. Chapter 83 Regression

Chapter 83 Regression

The next morning after a sparse breakfast, Cottle showed up and told both women that they could get dressed. He was giving them a two hour pass, and had ordered them to clear out of his sight so he could get some real work done.

Kara looked bemusedly at the curtain that still swung slightly from the doctor's exit before glancing aside at her roommate to see what she thought of their orders.

Sharon was stifling a yawn when she met Kara's eyes. The darker woman started to shrug, then winced at the ill-advised motion. "Damn shoulder. I'm going to need some help getting dressed."

After donning her own cargo pants and tanks, Kara helped Sharon into her clothes, feeling the wound in her side painfully twinge, especially when she bent over to tie Sharon's boot laces. As long as she moved cautiously, she could get around pretty well now and wondered how much longer the Doc was going to insist on keeping her in sickbay.

Of course, after last night…

Kara pushed that line of thought aside and was just finishing tying her second boot when Helo called out a greeting before pulling open their curtain. His cheerful smile pulled an involuntary one from Kara in response.

"So, Cottle says I'm to take you two off his hands for awhile," he said. "Whatcha been doing to rile up the Doc now?" He lifted inquiring eyebrows in Starbuck's direction.

"What? How come you always assume _I've _done something?" she asked, trying to look innocently indignant.

"Cause my wife's pure as the driven snow," he answered, adding a sanctimonious lilt to his reply. Then when Starbuck punched his arm, "Ow! See, convicted by your own hand. And I have a witness. Right, dear?"

"Don't drag me into this, Karl," Sharon answered, then laughed at the mock-wounded look he cast her way. "So, what are you going to do with us now that you've got us."

"Cottle said to take you both to the gym for an easy workout. Nothing strenuous, mostly stretching, some PT on your knee, Starbuck," he said over his shoulder as he led the pair down the lightly populated corridor.

[ I I I I I ]

They'd spent an hour in the gym before following Helo to the Admiral's quarters. He had insisted Starbuck show them the fleet contingency plans she'd been working on before the Raptor explosion. Athena, Helo and Starbuck used the second hour of their freedom from sickbay brainstorming and refining ideas until they had several additional proposals to give the XO along with the four original ones she'd never had the chance to deliver.

When Helo returned his two charges back to Life Stations, Cottle was waiting, insistent on examining their sutures to confirm for himself that they'd done no damage to his handiwork. He'd _humphed _in grudging confirmation that the wounds were healing nicely before tossing over his shoulder that he'd be back later to take Athena to the gym himself to go over some physical therapy exercises for her shoulder.

Sitting cross-legged on their respective beds, Starbuck and Athena bantered back and forth various ideas for improving the training regimen for would-be pilots. A few hours later, Cottle returned as threatened and ushered the reluctant Athena before him out towards the gym. Kara couldn't help but smirk as the Raptor pilot cast a doleful look back at her.

"Have fun," she called after them.

Once she was alone, Kara settled back against the pillows, pulling one of the blankets over her still-clothed form, and perused the notes she'd made. She rubbed at her eyes, surprised at how tired she felt after such a short time out of bed.

"_Gods. I hate this_," she muttered, frustrated at the toll being injured and laying around had taken on her endurance. From past experience, she knew that her strength would quickly return once she was up and about more, but patience was a virtue she knew she lacked, among so many others.

Kara dozed off a short time later with the book "Centurion Strategies" on her chest, the last coherent thought she had was how outdated it really was.

[ I I I I I ]

Lee stood beside Kara's bed thinking how cute she looked sleeping with her right hand curled under her chin and a lock of hair splayed over one eye. It wasn't often that cute and Kara were used together. He grinned as he pictured her reaction if he ever called her cute to her face. But the image faded as he noticed the fine lines of that marred her forehead, etched there by the pain of the past months.

Finding her asleep, even though it was only early afternoon, reminded him that it was a mere four days since Cottle had her in surgery to repair the collapsed lung. He'd been avoiding visiting again up until now, trying to mollify Dee and not wanting to examine how upsetting he found seeing Kara injured. Well, he was here now and he carefully lifted the book and papers that were scattered across her still figure, setting them in a neat stack on the side stand before turning to soak in the sight of her.

With a guilty start, he looked up as Colonel Tigh stepped through the partially open curtain. The XO came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the bed when he saw that the occupant was sleeping. Lee moved closer to the other man and asked in a low voice, "Is something wrong? Does the Admiral need me?"

Tigh shook his head and answered in as quiet a voice, "Just checking on her. Thought I'd review some the contingency plans she's been working on." He glanced aside at the empty bed, and asked, "Where's Athena…and the Doc?"

"In the gym doing some PT on her shoulder," Lee replied, then fell silent as the form under the covers stirred, a leg kicking at the confining blanket. He heard a low moan from Kara as she shifted again. As the two men watched, she became increasingly agitated, thrashing her head side to side and brushing at her body as if trying to rid herself of something.

Lee moved back to her side, reaching out a hand to lightly touch her twitching shoulder. As his fingers made contact, Kara violently twisted out from underneath his touch. Her eyes opened as she bolted off the opposite side of the bed, and she pressed her back to the wall, her unfocused gaze darting about the enclosure.

As the Colonel hurried towards Kara, her fist struck out and caught him from his blind side, jolting his head to the left and halting him in mid-step. Fingers fumbled at his belt as he brought his head back around to her.

Lee, rushing from around the bed, was several steps behind him. The terror in Kara's expression scared him. Then he saw her hit the XO and jerk the sidearm from his holster. His fear spiked to incomprehension as she pressed the muzzle to her own temple. Time slowed as he saw her finger tighten and she squeezed the trigger. His gut twisted in anticipation of the blast and he hopelessly cried out, _"NO!" _

Lee's heart faltered in the beat it took for him to take another stride forward. But with the next beat, he realized that the pistol hadn't fired. Then he was there, bowling Tigh aside and slamming into Kara. His momentum carried them into the wall and knocked the gun from her grip. With arms wrapped around her, he pinned her arms to her side. She didn't fight his hold, but he could feel within her the coiled tension of a storm about to break.

Then he looked into her eyes. Saw the shattered gaze that stared beyond him. Stared at horrors he couldn't discern. He felt the wave rise within her and crest as a scream that stabbed at his ears and heart. He leaned further into her, trying to provide what comfort he could as the screams continued to flood across the quiet of the nearly deserted sickbay.

Lee caught motion from his peripheral vision, and saw the Colonel pick up the dropped firearm and check it. When Tigh flicked the safety off, then back on, Lee realized that was why it hadn't discharged. The older man shoved the gun back into his holster, snapping it closed before lifting a grim gaze to meet Lee's.

[ I I I I I ]

Tigh rubbed at his bruised jaw as he took in the still screaming young woman, heard all the fear, anger and pain she'd kept locked away until it couldn't be contained any longer. She didn't pause between screams as the extremity of her emotions were rent from her subconsciousness and thrust into the light from which it had been hidden.

The Colonel felt more than heard someone approaching from behind, and twisted around, putting out restraining palms as Dr. Cottle and a female Marine rushed into the small enclosure. "No! Wait," he commanded of the pair. "She needs this," he added by way of explanation, voice raised to be heard.

With a wave of his hand, Tigh ushered the pair out, pulling the curtain closed behind them. The three moved further away and the Colonel addressed the Marine he now identified as Sergeant Mathias. He pulled her close, partly to be sure he was heard, but mostly to impress upon her the seriousness of his order, "Sergeant, you will close the hatch and stand guard outside it. If it ain't an emergency, no one enters. Understand me?" At her nod, Tigh waved her to go take her post.

Turning, Tigh saw that the taut look remained on Cottle's face. He figured his own probably mirrored the doctor's. He watched the Doc reach searching fingers into his vest pocket, and for once, came out empty. The physician gave an irritated grunt and rubbed a thumb along the bridge of his nose, then looked up when there was a break in the sound from the curtained area. Both men could hear now the longer pauses between screams until they finally stopped altogether.

Tigh found himself holding his breath, waiting to see if the distressing cries would restart. He forced an exhale as silence settled into the sickbay's space. Clearing his throat, the Colonel asked, "Should we tell the Admiral about this?"

"Don't think it's necessary. Like you said, I think she needed this release," Cottle said, giving Saul a considering look. "There's already an awkwardness that she and Bill need to overcome. She needs him. Needs him to not act as if she's broken. The more details he has, the harder it'll be for him to treat her normally."

By nodding his understanding, Tigh let the doctor know that he would also avoid discussing today with his old friend. "Guess I'd better go. Tell Apollo to stay as long as needed, I'll get someone to cover for him," Tigh said as he headed for the exit.

Stepping out the closed hatch, he found Mathias blocking an angry Athena's path. She raised questioning brows as he closed the hatch again behind him. Addressing himself to the female Marine, "Cottle has things in hand now. You can let medical cases enter, but no visitors until the doctor gives the all clear." The soldier gave him a 'Yes, Sir' and resumed her stance with a slightly less harried expression.

The Colonel next shifted his attention to the Raptor pilot, contemplating her before making a decision. "Come with me, Lieutenant." He strode off down the corridor, trusting her to follow. Pausing outside a storage closet, he waited for her to catch up, then ushered the young woman inside. Her expression only got more perplexed as he waved her to take a seat on one of the crates.

"It's Starbuck," he started, seeing her eyes widen in apprehension. "She had some kinda nightmare. Freaked out when Lee tried to wake her. Hit me, took my gun and tried to shoot herself," he said it all in a rush. Observing the concern turn to despair on Athena's face at his words, he quickly added, "She's fine. Never released the safety. Frakking scared me though," he admitted.

She covered her eyes with a hand. Hiding her gaze from his. "Thought she was doing better. Thought I was helping," he heard her mutter.

Watching Athena's reaction, Tigh was forced to re-evaluated his opinion of the Cylon woman. Sure the Admiral had vouched for her, yet a part of Saul had still harbored doubts. Yet the way she'd been helping with Kara, and her obvious distress at what had just happened, all made him think that there really was more to this woman than just the machine she'd been created.

"I'm sure you have been. Helping her that is," he said, uncomfortable trying to offer comfort.

Standing, she asked, "Now what?"

"Lee's with her. Best to give them a little longer. Why don't you find that husband of yours and go to the mess. Getting close to dinner time, what there is of it. Should be safe to return after that." She ducked her head in acknowledgment of the politely phrased order and exited the room with him following after. Saul glanced both ways down the thankfully empty corridor, relieved that no one was around to wonder why the XO and Lieutenant were coming out of a storage closet together. Allowing his strides to lengthen, the Colonel set his direction towards the flight deck, planning on finding Kat and assigning her to cover Apollo's shift.

[ I I I I I ]

As the Colonel and other two men left Lee alone with Kara, he refocused his attention on her, wondering how much longer she could keep up the intensity of her paroxysm. When he'd first felt the pressure building in her, he'd known that she was about come apart. Yet he hadn't been prepared for the tempest that had finally broke loose. The way she'd thrown her head back and roared her pain as if something inside had unleashed a fury of agony tore at him. Holding her to his chest, he prayed that she wouldn't splinter apart from the torrent pouring from her. A single tear of helplessness tracked down his face as he vicariously endured her anguish and anger.

And like a deluge, the ferocity of Kara's outpouring limited its duration. Lee could hear the difference when she started taking longer breaths between each scream. Within his grasp, her coiled tension was also easing. Then, after a particularly deep gasp, she moaned and buried her face into his shoulder. His stunned ears could still hear her labored breaths as they puffed into his uniform.

Lee spoke to her then. Whispering words of comfort and caring as he stroked her hair. When her weight started to sag against his supporting arm, he scooped her up and gently lay her on top of the bed. After toeing off his boots, he slid in beside her, pulling over them the blanket that had been kicked aside earlier. Within his arms, Kara turned and nestled her head into the crook of his neck, and an exhausted sigh brought an end to her tears.

Listening to her breathing slow until he knew she'd fallen asleep again, Lee shut his own eyes. But not to sleep. His own internal storm had yet to subside. He'd nearly lost her yet again. He remembered the moment of bitter despair as he'd watched her pull the trigger. Swallowing, he tried to bring moisture back to a mouth gone dry from fright and had to blink several times to clear eyes that had just the opposite problem.

His mind kept bringing him back to the safety on the gun. Had she known that it was still engaged? Forcing chaotic thoughts to focus, Lee realized that Kara had completed the same officer training courses that he had. In addition, she was a crack shot. If _his _Small Arms Instructor had drilled into him to automatically release the safety as he drew, so too had Kara's. Then what explanation was there for it being left on this time? She'd been terrified—dazed—having just woken from the nightmare.

_Woken _from the nightmare…

His thoughts lurched to a stop. Had she actually even been awake? Replaying the scene in his mind, her disorientation was obvious. And she'd never really focused, or shown any sign of recognition of either the Colonel or himself. In her mind, Kara had still been locked in whatever nightmare visions were tormenting her. She'd fought back, and made a choice when cornered. It made sense.

But that still left the question of the gun's safety. Lee let the question sit for a moment as he just thanked the gods that he was able to hold the living, breathing woman in his arms. Shifting his head slightly, he breathed in the scent of her hair, a smell uniquely Kara. Working with Vipers left a fragrance all its own that seemed to take weeks to fade. A mixture of Tylium fuel, grease, sweat and a tang of something else elusive that only Kara had. Maybe it was pheromones. Whatever it was, he drew her scent in and savored it's richness. The warmth of her breath against his neck stirred other thoughts as well. Memories of a cold night on New Caprica when he'd held her just like this.

Tasting memories, the ones with Kara seemed real, full of flavors and spice, while those with Dee had a blandness that reminded him of field rations—the basic need was filled, yet the desire for something more remained. Just holding Kara like this, knowing that a life with her would always have its own tang of unpredictability, brought Lee to a realization. One that he'd known deep down back on that chilly night when he'd shouted his love. There was only one woman that could provide the feast that he desired. Any other would eventually leave him feeling starved for more.

As the acceptance that his marriage was finished settled in his mind, Lee grasped an explanation for why Kara hadn't automatically disengaged the safety. If his theory that she was still in a sleepwalking state when she drew the gun was correct, then maybe a part of her had been aware enough to have purposely _not _released the safety. That part, the Kara that existed outside of the nightmare, wanted to live. 

_Kara wanted to live. _

The relief nearly undid him.

Finally relaxing, Lee let himself just hold her, matching her breathing until he drifted off, too. Sometime later a slight movement stirred him awake again. Opening his eyes, he watched as Kara gradually woke beside him. As her essence infused her face, it changed her from merely attractive to beautiful. Lee relished the sight, avowing that this was how he wanted to wake each morning for the rest of his life. As if in response to his thoughts, her green eyes brightened with pleasure as they blinked open to see him just inches from her, and a shy grin lifted the corners of her full lips.

"Hey there," he softly said, shifting a hand up to cup her cheek.

But his words and touch triggered a withdrawal on her part. Her brows drew together as she flicked a glance at their clothed bodies and obviously tried to recall how they'd ended up in this position together. Confusion turned her eyes opaque and she leaned away from his palm. Lee saw the moment when the memories swept through her. The warm color in her cheeks drained away and she clamped her eyes closed as she pushed a hand at his chest, trying to put distance between them.

Well, he wasn't having any of that. "Kara, look at me," he gently commanded, trying to grasp the hand between them.

Instead, she renewed her efforts with unexpected force, sliding herself away from him enough to pull a bare foot up, she shoved hard against his body. Lee slipped off the narrow bed and landed on the floor with a dull thud and an _oomph _as his air gusted out in surprise. Scrambling to his feet, he saw that she was curled now into a ball with the blanket pulled completely over her.

Swallowing the hurt anger at her rejection, Lee forced himself to stop and consider his next move. Whatever he chose to do now would likely be a turning point in their relationship—for good or bad. _Damn it all! I don't know enough, _he thought, staring at the huddled form. He realized that he had to get more information to understand Kara and her reactions. The President may have frozen him out of the loop, but he was damned-well going to insist that his dad correct that mistake.

Leaning over her, he placed a light hand where he thought her shoulder was and gently said, "Kara, it's Ok. What happened didn't mean anything, you were just dreaming." When she didn't respond, he said, "Look, I'm going to go for now. Give you some space. But I'm coming back. And things are going to be different. You hear me, Kara Thrace, I'm coming back. I won't let you push me away this time." Moving from her side, his expression was grimly determined as he marched off.

He had people he to see.


	84. Chapter 84 Breaking Bonds

Chapter 84 Breaking Bonds

Sitting on the bunk they'd shared for the past few weeks, Dee watched the man she loved flinch as his eyes fell on her as he entered their cabin. In that instant, she accepted that she'd truly lost Lee—assuming she'd ever really had him in the first place. It felt more like he'd been on loan to her, and it was finally time to return him to his rightful owner. In her heart, she knew this day was inevitable, yet the pain still came as a shock.

She felt Lee's searching gaze and saw surprise in his blue eyes. He probably had been expecting her to start berating him about where he'd been—and with whom—as soon as he'd stepped through the hatch. Not bothering to hide her hurt, she did manage to set aside the anger, in its place was a resigned acceptance. Feeling the emotional chasm widen even as he crossed the short physical distance between them, she shifted sideways on the bunk so Lee could sit beside her.

Looking now into those intense blue eyes, she was struck by how she had never noticed how shadowed they'd become…until just recently. Thinking back, she could almost pinpoint when they'd lost their startling luster. The morning after Founder's Day on New Caprica. The morning that Kara Thrace had promised herself to another man.

Since the destruction of the Twelve Colonies, she'd seen the passion that marked the Starbuck/Apollo, Kara/Lee relationship. A part of herself had believed that she might ignite that same intensity within Lee, yet it had never happened. Their time together had been filled with a comfortable tenderness instead. No matter what happened now, Dee couldn't regret saying yes to the man that sat beside her—and in her heart.

"Dee—" he started, but was silenced by the finger the petite woman laid lightly against his lips.

Locking her gaze to his, "Don't Lee. I told you once that I accepted that you were mine until Starbuck came back. I'm a big girl and made my choice. I deserve your respect, not your pity. So, just don't try to apologize, Ok?" She dropped her hand to her lap.

Lee turned his head away from the dark one so close to his. "I'll speak with dad. I can move into the pilots' bunkroom so you can stay here," he offered.

"Like I said, Lee," now an undercurrent of anger did heat her voice, "I don't want your pity, and I don't need you to give me your cabin because you feel guilty. These are the CAG's quarters now, not mine. The officer's quarters were good enough for me before, and I have friends there. I'll be fine," she stated with a lift of her chin. "I'll be by later to gather my things."

Dee let her eyes say goodbye for her as she met Lee's. Then, breaking their lingering contact, it was she that stood and, with her head held up, walked out of the cabin—and their marriage—without looking back.


	85. Chapter 85 Wild Horses

Chapter 85 Wild Horses

When Sharon returned to sickbay, she found Kara alone and huddled under the concealing blanket. "Kara," she tentatively called, the form shifted, but otherwise didn't respond. She stood staring down for a few more moments, gathering her courage and words about her before taking hold of the cover and flipping it totally off the bed and its occupant.

"What the frak you doing?" Starbuck demanded, her voice rough as she twisted over with a glare.

"That's my question to you," Sharon snapped, her dark features almost scornful. "Since when do you cower like a scared kid just because of a bad dream? So much for the fearless, hotshot pilot, huh?"

"Shut up!" Starbuck snarled, coming to her feet just inches from Athena. "What would a Cylon know about it. All you've got is programming. Just erase what you don't want to remember, right?"

As the taller woman leaned menacingly into her space, Sharon held her ground, ignoring the tightening in her belly in reaction to the anger that emanated from the taut face so close to her.

"It doesn't work like that. I can't just do a wipe and forget," she said. "And I know a little something about nightmares. The men of Pegasus taught me all about them and how it feels to be helpless and—" she broke off, wetting her lips as the remembered trauma left her dry-mouthed.

Sharon saw understanding flush away the anger on Kara's face as she averted her eyes before saying in a tight voice, "I forgot," then looked back at Sharon and said, "Look, I'm sorry, I just…" The blonde gave a shake of her head, shame creasing her brow as her lips curled. "Lee…but then it's not… I can't…can't face him. Cause you're right. I'm a screw-up…and now a frakkin' coward."

"Damn it, Kara. How many times do we have to tell you that it's not your fault. And what you're going through…that's normal, too," she said, exasperation making her sharp. She grimaced at her own words, knowing better than most how empty they were in the face of the feelings that an attack dredged up. And how much worse Kara's experiences were, especially when they hammered at a self-image already damaged by a childhood of cruelty.

Sinking down on the edge of the bed, Kara rubbed her hands along the material of her pants. "Don't know what I'm doing… I mean, I remember what happened, sort of. Tigh and…the gun. Lee…But I don't really remember _doing _it." She raised fear-laced eyes to Sharon's, "What if they did something to me on New Caprica. Brainwashed me or…whatever. What if the next person I try to shoot is the Admiral or the President? Like Boomer."

Athena flinched at the other Sharon's name, yet considered Kara's concerns carefully before answering, "It's not the same. _You're _not a Cylon. And look how many times you've been alone with the Admiral or President. You've had plenty of opportunities to hurt them, and you haven't," she pointed out, then was relieved to see some of the fear in the green eyes ease.

"Yeah, I guess," Kara said, then gave a harsh laugh. "You know, I was feeling better. Thought maybe there was something to this talking Laura kept making me do. Now, I'm right frakkin' back to where I started. Grounded and back to the brig."

Sharon's gaze narrowed as she asked, "Who said you're going to the brig?"

Again Starbuck laughed, the sound filled with bitter defeat. "I hit the XO. Pulled a gun on a superior officer. Tried to-to… Frak! What's it matter. I proved, once again, that I'm dangerous and deranged. What do you think they're going to do?" Kara dug her fingers into her thighs, feeling the pain as the barely healed scars on her one leg started oozing red through the fabric of her pants.

As Sharon saw what Kara was doing, she angrily slapped her hands aside. "Stop it!" she yelled at the bent head, desperate to get through to her. "Stop hurting yourself. It doesn't solve anything. Or do you just like to see your own blood, huh? Is that it? Are you getting off on the pain. Cause I gotta tell you, it's getting old and it hurts the rest of us, too."

"What do you want from me?" cried Kara, abruptly rising and putting distance between the two of them before she turned and shouted, "I tried! And it didn't make a frakkin' difference. It's in my head," tapping her forehead, "whenever I close my eyes. The drugs helped and I could sleep. Now frakkin' Cottle won't give me anymore, won't even let me drink. So, what the frak am I suppose to do?" Kara clasped her arms to herself, obviously trying to keep Sharon from seeing the way they trembled.

"Talk to me, Kara. Tell me about the nightmares, it might help."

"Only thing that would help would be having Leoben chained to a wall so I could take my time tearing him apart. I'd demonstrate my _destiny _to the bastard as I ripped his balls off." She punctuated her words by picking up the fork from her untouched lunch tray and stabbing at the thin sandwich until she'd reduced the meal to crumbs and tattered pieces.

Both women turned as the curtain was pulled aside and Cottle entered. Though he probably noticed the tension between them, he apparently chose to ignore it.

Pointing a finger towards the bed, "Ok, Captain, let's check that incision of yours," he said.

[ I I I I I ]

Cottle watched as Starbuck hesitated. It looked like she was going to protest, but then she dropped the utensil and sullenly complied, returning to the bed and laying back against the pillows. That's when he noticed the stain darkening the material of her cargos.

"Now what the frak you do?" he growled. Then, as Kara stared fixedly at the ceiling, "Alright, get 'em off and let me see for myself," he ordered, glaring until his recalcitrant patient unfastened her pants and, shifting her hips, slid them awkwardly down to expose the red-smeared flesh of her upper thigh.

Looking from the reopened wounds back to her face, Cottle grunted. Without saying anything further, he opened the side stand drawer and removed several items. With rough hands, unmindful of what discomfort he might be causing, he wiped the reopened cuts clean, and then dressed them with a gauze pad and tape. With a snap, he removed the gloves he'd donned and set them aside as she shimmied her trousers back up.

"Ok, let's have a look-see at what other havoc you've wreaked on my fine work." He lifted her tanks high enough to give access to the bandage beneath. Peeling back the tape, he made short work of confirming that this incision at least was still in good shape.

As he reattached the bandage in place, "We done now?" Kara sourly asked, gaze still fixed above her head.

"Nope." Cottle saw her finally look at him as he pulled the stethoscope from his pocket and placed it on her ribcage just above the bandage.

"That's frakkin' cold," she muttered.

He gave her a knowing smirk as he moved it further up her chest. "Breathe in… Again..." Tucking the scope back in his pocket, he let her tug her tanks back down. "Right. Good lung sounds. All your hollering didn't mess up my work."

This time, when her eyes flicked to his and away, he saw the anger had been replaced by shame and…maybe fear? Mentally shaking his head, he was thankful that he'd taken the last couple of hours poring over what few medical sources he still had at hand. He'd gotten some useful information, especially about the dream episodes that were plaguing his problem patient. Now all he had to do was get Thrace to listen.

_Right. About as easy as getting an asteroid to change course by asking it nicely._

As Kara swung herself around to sit on the edge, Cottle looked over to where Athena was silently watching, and he raised a bushy eyebrow at her. Her slight headshake told him that she'd not made much progress. Not surprising, especially after what he'd learned from his reading.

Turning back to Starbuck, he said, "Your little episode earlier struck me as odd, even for you. So, I did some research. Found a few interesting ideas about what's going on inside that thick skull of your." He watched as Thrace tensed again.

"It was just a frakkin' nightmare, everyone has them," she repressively said.

"Not everyone tries to kill themselves over a nightmare," Athena spoke up. "so, shut up and just listen for a change. Maybe the Doc found something that can help."

Kara's eyes met Sharon's dark ones before dropping. "Fine. What did you find out about my little freak out?" She crossed her arms, pretending to not care.

"What you've been having aren't nightmares per se, instead, something called night-terrors," Cottle said. He wasn't surprised when he noted her perplexed expression, he'd only vaguely heard about them himself before coming across several references.

"Terror, mare," Starbuck said. "Can't say I see that it matters what you call it."

"Dreams and nightmares are the unconscious mind's way of processing things during the dream cycle, and they happen during the REM part of sleep. Rapid eye movements… Night-terrors now, they usually occurs before REM. Sleepwalking's closely related. The subjects of both are unaware of their actions even though they might appear awake to others. And it can be very difficult to truly wake a person in this state. The subject frequently doesn't remember anything that happened during the episode, and yet the panic experienced is more extreme than that of nightmares, thus the name night-terror." He watched Starbuck frown as she absorbed his words.

She finally gave a shrug and said, "Still don't see why it matters."

"Kara, don't you see?" Athena leaned forward from the edge of her own bed. "This explains what happened. You said it yourself, it was like you weren't even the one doing it. Don't you understand what the Doc said, you were still asleep, just reacting to whatever visions were terrorizing you."

"Yeah…well maybe." She didn't sound very convinced to Cottle.

Shaking a yellow-stained finger at his patient, "You listen to her, Captain. You're not crazy…well, no more than before. Sides, you don't want to let the frakkin' Cylons win." He saw a bit of the old Starbuck defiance light her eyes and mentally nodded before continuing, "Not much really known about these night-terrors, just that they can be brought on by stress and anxiety. Usual treatment includes counseling, stress therapy and, in some cases, anti-anxiety drugs. Drugs are out, ain't got 'em and the side effects would prevent you from flying."

"Like that's really going to happen anytime soon anyways," he heard her mutter as she stared at her clasped hands.

"Sooner than you think." When she looked up questioningly, "Your side needs a couple weeks yet to completely heal and you need to put on some weight. Regain the muscle mass you've lost." Wagging a finger at her now, "_If_ you've followed doctor's orders by the time your sides fully healed, I expect to be able to tell the Admiral that you're cleared for flight duty." He smirked at her surprise.

"But…these night-terrors?"

"You planning on taking a nap while out on CAP?"

"No, but—"

"Well then it's not a problem. The President and Admiral's already said they'd take my recommendation. That just leave Apollo for you to convince."

Watching the play of emotions roll over the expressive face of the young woman, Cottle shook his head at the folly of youth and love, especially the frakked up relationship between Apollo and Starbuck. Thankful that fixing _that _mess was not in his job description, he turned to Athena and said, "I think one more night here and I can kick the two of you out of my hair." Trusting that the Raptor pilot had gotten his message, he left to go check on the two knuckledraggers that Ishay was currently patching up.

[ I I I I I ]

Watching the doctor saunter away, "Is he frakkin' with me?" Kara asked, confusion, disbelief…and hope flickering on and off her face.

"Like Cottle would joke about your medical status," Sharon said. "The Doc doesn't play games when it comes to his job, you know that."

"Yeah, but…the dreams—or whatever the frak they are—and the gun. I know I took the Colonel's gun. I tried to…" Kara put her head in her hands as if attempting to force her thoughts to make sense. "_Frak!_ I don't know what I was trying to do."

Sharon moved to stand in front of Kara and reached to pull her hands down so she could force the green eyes to look at her. But, as she touched the white knuckles, Kara recoiled with a gasped, _"Don't!"_

As Sharon took a half step back and splayed her hands out to the side to show Kara that she wasn't going to touch her again, she said, "Damnit Kara, talk to me! What is it? You know I'm not going to hurt you," frustration leaking into her voice at the unexpected reaction.

"I know… I know that. It's just…"

"Just what? Come on, out with it," she said, almost pleading as she moved forward again and knelt before her friend, catching her distraught eyes.

"I was remembering. Cottle said people don't, but I do… It's the same each time. Bits and pieces. Flashes." Kara broke her gaze away to stare down at her palms as she turned them up.

"What do you see?" Sharon softly prompted.

"Hands. It's always hands." She held up her hands to Sharon, then clenched them into fists that dropped to her side. "I th-think their Sam's at f-first. He's touching me and it good, you know," she raised her eyes and Athena nodded in understanding and for her to continue. "Then his…the…hands change. They're cold and the skin…" Athena saw Kara swallow convulsively, then visibly force herself to continue, "the skin comes off. And they're metal fingers. They hurt. My back and…down there." Wrapping her arms around herself, Kara tried to control the shaking as she stared into Sharon's darkly sympathetic eyes. "I can't get away from them. They just keep hurting me…taunting me with caresses then shredding my skin. I just had to make it stop."

Sharon wished she had a degree in psychiatry, or half a dozen. She felt overwhelmed by Kara's need and was desperate to find the right thing to say or do to help her. Working on gut instinct alone, she slowly lifted her hands, fingers spread, palms towards Kara and waited, never letting her eyes leave the traumatized ones across from her. Slowly Kara raised her own until they were a bare inch from Athena's. They remained poised, not touching, for another moment then Kara hesitantly pressed palm to palm and curled her fingers. As Sharon interlaced their fingers, she felt the moist heat of Kara's fear and gave a reassuring squeeze.

"You can do this, Kara. You're stronger than any nightmare—or night-terror."

Holding eyes and hands with her friend, Kara listened and felt the stir of defiance. Cottle was right. She couldn't let the frakkers beat her. Not again. Starbuck knew how to twist a losing hand into a winning play, and by-gods she was tired of fighting those that were on her side. It was time for payback and she couldn't do that moping in sickbay.

"Ok. Fine. Just remember, no complaining about my bitching to you."

"Bitch to me all you want, Starbuck. Just don't expect me to sing you lullabies to sleep."

Both women grinned as they visualized Athena crooning Starbuck a bedtime tune. As the grins faded, neither acknowledged the underlying sadness the image brought up of incomplete families: a child lost from one and a mother's acceptance never known by the other.


	86. Chapter 86 Zeus & Apollo

Chapter 86 Zeus & Apollo

Looking around the Admiral's quarters, Lee saw that the blankets Kara had been using were set aside but still available. As he took the chair across from where the Admiral sat at his desk, he noticed his father's rounded shoulders and general air of fatigue. He nearly told his dad that maybe they should talk the next day, but firmed his resolve instead. He'd already waited patiently, and he was fed up with being on the outside. Now was the time for answers, not some more convenient point in the future. Especially when tomorrow was as likely to bring it's own trials. So, he leaned forward on the edge of his seat, letting his father see his intent not to be denied this time.

The Admiral straightened his own posture in recognition of Lee's determination and spoke, "What did you need to talk about, Major?" The older Adama folded his large hands in front of him on the neat desk.

"It's about Kara…_Dad_," Lee answered, stressing the personal nature of the discussion he'd come to have with his father, and not his Admiral.

"Has something happened," concern thickened the already course voice as the older Adama leaned forward.

"Sort of." Lee ran a hand through his hair before continuing, "She had some kind of extreme nightmare this afternoon. It was pretty scary, seeing her like that and not knowing what to do. It's time to tell me what happened on New Caprica." He paused briefly and swallowed, "What they did to her. I know she's been speaking to the President, and…and I need to know." Lee forced out in a rush, his voice insistent with his refusal to be denied again. He saw the corners of his father's mouth tighten as he sat back in his own chair, considering Lee's demand.

"I don't see that you need to know the details of Kara's imprisonment," the Admiral finally said, his tone repressive even as his eyes were shadowed with pained knowledge.

"Not only am I the CAG and Starbuck's my pilot, but I'm her friend and-and…" Lee stumbled over how to define the driving necessity of his claim. Taking a deep breath, he made the proclamation he'd been holding back for years, "I love her, Dad. And I have to help her. I was with her today and, because I've been left out, I couldn't help her when she needed me. Didn't know what to say, how to react. That _can't_ happen again."

His father silently stared at him for a full minute before neutrally asking, "What about Dee?"

"Dee and I are done. She's moving back to the officers' quarters today." Lee saw his father's brows lift in surprise.

"I thought the two of you were good together. You certainly seemed a good team on the Pegasus."

With a shake of his head, Lee said, "No, Dad, we were adequate. With no Cylons and no challenges, it was easy to fake our way through that year. Didn't you ever wonder why I put on so much weight? Let myself go like that?" He saw the blue eyes flicker away in embarrassment at the reminder. "I was trying to fill a void. And I just didn't care anymore," he admitted, recalling the effort it had taken to get up each morning, knowing it another day that he wouldn't be seeing the teasing smirk daring him into some new exploit or emotion. He dropped his eyes, shame coloring his pale complexion. "I never should have married Dee. I didn't—don't—love her. She's great, and I care for her, never meant to hurt her the way I have. But…what I feel for her isn't love, it's comfort. We're comfortable together."

"And that's not good enough?" his father asked, tilting his head slightly as he scrutinized his son before adding, "She compliments you, Lee. And she certainly loves you."

"You're wrong, Dad," Lee said with another shake of the head. "We're too much alike. There's no challenge with her, no push to do better, be better…be more." Rubbing at his neck, he tried to find words to explain further, "I need that, otherwise I just go through the motions."

Rising to pace the small study area, Lee did several passes before finally turning back to face his father's searching gaze. "I love Kara. It's always been her since the first time I met her at Zak's. She's the only one that makes me feel like I'm flying just with a look." He flung himself back in the chair. "Gods, I was so jealous of Zak…of my own brother." Clutching the armrests, "Then he died… I couldn't face her knowing how much she loved him, and wishing it were me instead." He raised lost eyes to his father. "So I stayed away. Shoved how I felt aside and pretended it didn't mean anything." Lee's voice dropped even lower as he struggled to push out the rest, "Then the world ended, and I kept thanking the gods that Kara was still alive. Millions dead... Mom…so many of my friends just gone, and here I was, ridiculously happy that Kara had survived."

His father sat back, steepling his fingers as he regarded Lee through slitted eyes before speaking, "Always knew there was something between you two. Yet…" he trailed off with a shake of the head, possibly trying to deny what had been in front of him for years now. "How does she feel about you?"

"She loves me," he replied, then hesitated, "or did at one time." A slightly sick laugh gusted from him as he remembered the ecstasy of the night they'd shared on New Caprica, followed by the devastation of the morning after. "We haven't really talked about us since she came back aboard Galactica."

Lee saw the confusion in the craggy face as his father regarded him then asked, "What about Anders…and Dee?"

Dropping his gaze to the finger still encircled by his wedding band, Lee slowly twisted it off. Clutching the hard reminder of his bitter despair, he felt it bite into his palm from the pressure. With a jerk of his head, he looked across at his father.

"My timing with Kara was always off. First Zak. Then she took off to Caprica and met Anders." He mentally flinched at how poorly he'd handle the months that followed, letting her push him away when she was reeling from the attacks by the Cylon Raider they'd named Scar. He'd seen how much she was hurting, how confused and screwed up she was, yet had let her slip away from him.

Unconsciously reaching a hand to touch the spot on his chest, he continued, "Then she shot me. I knew she'd blame herself. It was an accident and I was going to tell her that, but she never came to visit me in sickbay. Not once," he bitterly said, the emotional hurt more painful then the physical wound ever had been.

"But she did," his father said with a nod. "She was there every night you spent in sickbay."

"If she told you that, she was lying," Lee bit out.

"No, I saw her," the Admiral insisted, looking away as he recalled the strained nights so long ago. "It was always late. I'm not sure she slept much that week either cause she looked nearly as bad as you. She'd stand just outside your curtain and watch you. I think she was afraid to go in." The senior Adama scrubbed at his face. "I should have said something to her. Should have told her it wasn't her fault, yet a part of me blamed her. While seeing you in that hospital bed, I was afraid if I said anything that I'd only make her feel worse."

Lee took a minute to digest his father's revelation, and an ache inside that he'd held onto for so long finally released.

_She had come. She'd been there, but felt too frakking guilty to face me._

He blinked away moisture and faced his father across the desk. "Like I said, my timing's always sucked with her, but then there was the Founder's Day celebration on New Caprica, and I _finally _got up the courage to tell her I loved her. She said she loved me. We shouted it into the night," a boyish grin lighted across Lee's face only to be smeared away as he continued, "The next morning she married Anders. I couldn't understand how she could do that. Say she loved me then turn around and marry someone else. After I found out… Ten minutes later I was proposing to Dee."

Lee slouched back in his chair, putting his hands over his face as he relived a shock more devastating than any physical blow he'd ever received. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and looked up into his father's sorrowful face.

"I'm sorry, son. Sorry the two of you have been through so much." Adama gave a squeeze before lifting his hand away. "Starbuck's never lacked for courage. Guess I just never understood that behind the Viper Jock facade, Kara was so filled with fear." He gave a gruff laugh that didn't reach the lined eyes as he moved to his liquor cabinet and snagged two glasses. Pouring a hefty dose of amber liquid into each, he kept his back to his son as he added, "I remember once on Caprica bailing her out of the base brig after a shore leave. I asked her why she got in fights. She told me that anger makes you strong while fear makes you weak," he said, voice breaking slightly.

Adama turned and handed Lee one of the tumblers before taking a deep swallow from his own. Then said, "Kara must have spent most of her life scared. It explains the anger she's always wrapped herself in."

Lee stared down into his glass as he rocked it in his hand, watching the way the motion sent the contents cresting up one side then sloshing back the other way. Taking a sip, he let it trickle down his constricted throat as he considered his dad's words. He coughed once, then spoke, "She wasn't like that with Zak. She was open and caring."

"Maybe," his dad agreed, then drew Lee's eyes as he continued, "But what did Kara learn from her experience with Zak? Perhaps that if you love someone they'll die. Add that to the guilt she felt for her part in his death, and her fear must have been nearly unbearable when faced with falling in love again."

Lee contemplated what his dad had said, seeing the times Kara had pushed him away in a new light. Recognizing now how she'd clung to Sam's memory, a man she'd only known for a few days, to put emotional distance between her and Lee. She'd all but shoved Dee at him. Then her outrageous euphoria when she'd rescued Anders from Caprica, and finally, her rush into a marriage she hadn't even been considering until she'd been faced with the reality of the love between Lee and her.

"Kara's mother…" his father broke off and Lee could see the twitch in the aged face as his dad ground his teeth before clearing his throat. "Kara learned from her mother that those that are suppose to love her would hurt her instead. And I know her father left when she was young, additional evidence that she couldn't trust those she became emotionally attached to. After trusting one more time, Zak's death must have seemed like the final proof." He tossed back the rest of his drink and his voice deepened with contempt, "Hell, even I did the same thing to her. Lee, the wonder isn't that Kara is afraid of love, it's that she can love at all."

"She loves me, Dad. I know it. Now tell me what I need to know to help her."

Bill Adama looked at his son…and began to talk.


	87. Chapter 87 Color Scheme

Chapter 87 Color Scheme

Sitting in the mess that evening with Athena and Helo, Starbuck considered the pros and cons of licking her bowl, deciding with a sniff to instead run a slender finger along the inside to get what little her spoon had missed. Not that the thinnish soup had been especially good, but apparently it was all she was going to get until a breakfast the next day that promised to be as meager.

As Helo leaned back from murmuring something in Athena's ear that had a blush darkening the already shaded skin, Starbuck saw his expression turn serious as he noticed her still holding the empty bowl. After a slightly furtive glance at those seated at the nearby dining tables, he pitched his voice so only the pair of women at his table could hear, "The President has issued a fleet-wide rationing program. But Racetrack came back today with a promising planet just four jumps out. The Admiral's sending a surveying and support team tomorrow to check it out. So…if we're lucky, we might have something fresh to eat soon."

"Well, don't look at me, Karl. I've got luck to spare, just never know if it's swinging good or bad," Kara said with a mild grimace.

"Hey, I hear that some Tauron sect have these fat statues that they rub the belly on for good fortune. Maybe we should have the survey team rub your belly, Starbuck, before setting off tomorrow. Whatdaya say." Helo's smirk, turned to a satisfied grimace as Kara's fist smacked his arm.

"Idiot," her scowl ruined by twitching lips, "I swear, Athena, if so much as one person even looks like they're thinking of trying it, I'm gonna castrate your man then and there," Starbuck said, waving the spoon towards his groin to emphasize her threat. As the grin dropped from Karl's face, Kara looked over at Sharon in surprise and saw the matching pain reflected in her eyes. "Ah, frak, guys. I'm sorry," immediately knowing that they were thinking about their dead child.

"No. It's Ok," Sharon calmly said, but her words were belied when she stood. "I'm just going to go back to sickbay, now. It's been a long day, and I think I can weasel a pain pill out of Cottle. My shoulder's kinda hurting after the PT he put me through earlier. See you later."

Watching Karl watch his wife hurry from the mess with head down, Kara kicked herself for the thoughtless remark. They'd both helped her so much and she repaid them by joking about something so personally painful.

"Karl, maybe you should go after her. Be with her or…or whatever."

"No…When she gets like this, she needs some time alone. I can always tell when she wants some distance and when she needs me near." He met Kara's gaze and undoubtedly saw the guilt written on her face. "It wasn't your fault. Sometimes the loss just catches us by surprise. It's always there, just some random word or picture jumps out and its like it just happened," he explained.

"Yeah… I know," she said, thinking about Kacey. "I'm still sorry. If I'd just learn to keep my mouth shut I wouldn't screw-up so often," she muttered, dropping the spoon with a clatter into the bowl and shoving it aside.

"Making it all about you again, Starbuck?" Karl said, bending towards her as he tried to catch her eyes. As the green ones met his, he gave her the gift of a slow grin and said, "Besides, everyone knows the day you can keep your smart remarks to yourself is the day the universe implodes. Not a good thing to happen, so don't worry if a few doozies slip out. Gotta keep the stars and suns aligned." He grabbed her bowl, stacking it atop his own and rose. "Come with me. The Admiral and I have a surprise for you."

She waited a beat, then pushed back from the table to follow him, wondering if just _maybe _the gods had gifted her with a friend like Karl to make up for the frakked-up parents she'd been saddled with. Letting a smile shake the pain and guilt from her heart, she decided that it was almost a fair trade.

[ I I I I I ]

Kara looked around the room, taking in the scattered toys, drawings hung on walls and the three children clustered around a table putting puzzles together. _Why the frak did Helo bring me here_, she wondered as she watched the two girls interchanging pieces while the third child, a tow-headed boy, was bent intently working on his own. All three heads looked up when the young woman that had been sitting with them rose to meet Helo with an enthusiastic hug and teasing greeting, "Karl, you been staying out of trouble lately?"

"Now, Nancy. I always _try_. Not my fault my magnetic personality just seems to draw it to me," he replied, returning the hug before releasing the slim figure to turn to Kara. He gave a jerk of his head for her to step forward as he said, "This is Kara."

Nancy stuck her hand out with a welcoming smile that reached all the way to her eyes. "Glad you came, Kara," she said, giving a warm handshake before adding, "Karl says you're something of an artist?"

Kara felt her cheeks heat as she flicked a glare the direction of the mischievously grinning man. "More a dabbler really," she said, deciding that she was later going to see if it was possible to beat a person senseless with his own lollipop.

"The Admiral rounded up some painting supplies and Nancy has an easel and has agreed to let you come in whenever you want to use it," Karl explained.

Kara looked from his eager face to the woman's equally pleased one, unsure how to respond. One of the few things she'd really missed from her old life was being able to put color to canvas. Now her friend was offering her a gift that made her fingers twitch with desire. She felt her eyes sting and a tightness in her chest that confused her. As she met Karl's gaze, he must have seen and understood.

He tenderly rested his hands on her shoulders and said, "Look, it's Ok to accept this. If it brings you a little joy or peace, you deserve it. Besides, from what I've heard, art's very therapeutic."

"We have someone here every shift, so you can come anytime, Kara," Nancy softly said, her expression showing that she knew she was missing the exact subtext, but recognized that there was something important passing between the two.

With a hand still on her shoulder, he turned Kara and nudged her towards the metal cabinets that lined the side wall. "Nancy's assigned you a locker. I've already got the stuff the Admiral scrounged up in it. You can start anytime," he said, opening a locker that had a sticker labeled Thrace on the front.

Kara found herself beside him, hesitantly reaching in and pulling out a tackle box. When she flipped the lid open, her eyes widened at the variety and number of paint tubes and brushes revealed within. A delighted grin sketched across her face as she lifted her eyes to Karl's searching gaze.

"You like?" he asked, his eyes crinkling with pleasure…and relief. Probably been afraid she'd rebuff their gift.

She cleared her throat before answering, "Yeah, I like."

"I'll leave you to it then. I've a shift in CIC to cover," Helo said, and Kara gave him a distracted nod, busy inspecting the available brushes and not even noticing him flash the daycare worker an amused grin before making his quiet exit.

Kara's gaze shifted as Nancy moved to the side, and she noticed for the first time the easel leaning in the corner with a white smock hanging from it.

"I know the light's not great in here. And it's not very private. But I hope you'll come whenever you want," the other woman said as she straightened the wooden easel and looked back at Kara.

Pulling a small canvas from the storage unit, Kara brought over the precious box of paints and white rectangle to the waiting stand.

Then Kara's attention was wholly focused on the pleasures of smearing yellows and reds, and splashing shades of orange across the waiting white. After the first exuberant brush strokes, she found herself mixing darker hues that she used to slash across the previous bursts of tangerine joy as her consciousness shifted inwards. The deep purples resembled bruises, and if the burnt sienna that ran to crimson resembled stains of suffering, she was too intent on making lashes with the pigment to delve into its meaning. When she blinked back into a general awareness of her surroundings, she had no idea how long she'd been inflicting paint onto the now covered canvas.

She stepped back a pace to look at the results of her vehemence. There was nothing beautiful in the clashes of color and line she'd created. It spoke of a violence of intent and tint. It didn't take a lot of self examination to perceive the mess of emotional shades that saturated the surface before her. As Kara felt a presence at her shoulder, she twisted around in front of the painting, blocking it from view, the piece too revealing to share. She recognized Nancy, and the curiosity that vied with understanding in the other woman's expression.

"Sorry to disturb you," Nancy said. "I'm off now and just wanted to introduce you to Paula here." She waved over the new arrival, a heavy set woman in her middling fifties. The older woman gave a brief nod of greeting before returning to a pair of boys that were arguing over a toy battlestar, each tugging on one end. Watching the woman efficiently end the argument brought up a smile that surprised Kara by how natural it felt. She felt lighter, more relaxed, than she could remember in quite awhile.

Kara glanced down when Nancy extended a palm that held a key, "I found a lock to keep your stuff safe," she said with a nod towards the locker. "We got good kids here, but they like to get into things. Thought you'd probably need this."

Taking the proffered key, Kara pulled her dog tags over her head, adding it to the two tags and ring that already hung from the chain. As she slipped it back on, she had to swallow twice before lifting grateful eyes to the other woman. "Thanks," she mumbled, hoping that Nancy could hear the depth of feeling Kara couldn't find words to express. She must have because her amber-hued eyes lit with satisfaction as she turned to leave.

Kara shook her head at the unexpected gifts of paints and uncomplicated acceptance she'd received. Cleaning up her tools, she returned the almost dry painting to _her _locker. She ran a light finger over the label marking the contents as belonging to her and considered in wonder the effort extended on her behalf. Maybe her mom was wrong. Maybe she had worth if others were willing to do things like this just for her.

Strolling back to sickbay, she found it easier now to return the greetings of those she passed.


	88. Chapter 88 PowWow

A/N: Since this is an AU work of fiction, I decided to rearrange the timeline slightly and tweak canon events to work with my story, instead of the other way around. So, yes. I'm playing fast and loose with canon here. I claim writer's privilege ;^)

* * *

Chapter 88 PowWow

Kara gave a noisy slurp as she sucked the bland gruel from the spoon while thinking how much better it would be if she only had a dollop of honey to add to it.

"You never learn any manners, Starbuck?" Sharon teased as she set aside her own empty bowl on the stand beside their beds.

"Sure. Pinky up when drinking Ambrosia, elbows off the table during Triad, and of course, a belch after a good meal," Kara replied, grinning across the space between them. "Notice…no belch. This slop doesn't deserve to be called food, let alone a good meal." Wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, "See, manners intact."

She saw Sharon's expression shift as the darker woman cleared her throat before changing the subject. "So, you seem pretty rested this morning?" the casually spoken question belied by the intent look.

Kara felt her first impulse to deflect with a Starbuck-worthy retort ready to backflip off her tongue, but she bit it back, instead deciding to make an effort at talking since she'd promised as much the night before. "Pretty good, I guess… Woke just once," she paused, searching the fragments of memory from dreams she'd rather not recall. "It was D'Anna this time. She kept ordering me to do weird stuff, mostly house chores. Worse than a wife with her nagging. Dust this, wash that. And you know how I feeling about cleaning." She gave a weak laugh.

"Yeah, I know. Karl told me about your apartment," Sharon lightly said, then her tone went lower, "Guess it doesn't take a shrink to interpret that dream."

"Not so much." Kara stared across sickbay to where Cottle was leaning on a counter, scribbling on charts. "It was just a dream, though. Not…not like the others."

Sharon nodded and opened her mouth to speak when the alarm klaxon's sudden shrieking snapped her jaw closed. Both women looked at each other, feeling the conflict of training that demanded they respond to the flight deck and the knowledge that they were stuck in sickbay instead.

"I hate feeling this frakkin' useless," Kara muttered and worried her lip as she watched the sickbay staff rush to organize for possible incoming casualties. After a few minutes, she rose, intending to ask Ishay if she could do something—anything—to help, when an announcement echoed over the comm ordering Captain Thrace and Lieutenant Agathon to report to the War Room.

Kara didn't bother looking over her shoulder as she strode from sickbay, she knew Sharon, and her ever-present guard dog Sergeant Mathias, were bare steps behind her as they wove their way through Galactica's corridors.

Entering the War Room, she surveyed the tense officers gathered about the large display table. Kara gave a tug at her double tanks and wished she'd taken time to swing by her locker to change into a uniform, but the orders had said ASAP so she'd hurried here still in the running shorts she'd donned that morning in sickbay. As assorted faces looked her over on her entrance, she consoled herself that Athena, coming in just behind her, was likewise underdressed. Her gaze met the Admiral's and she flashed him a tight smile which he returned with a brisk nod.

The group must have been just waiting for their arrival because the Admiral immediately waved them forward and started to speak, "Yesterday, we landed a survey and collections team on the planet below us in hopes of finding a suitable food source." Adama tapped the display indicator before him. "The doctor's analysis is that the planet's flora & fauna aren't compatible with human physiology." Grim glances passed around the room at the bad news. All eyes returned to the Admiral as he continued, "While scouting the surrounding area, Chief Tyrol found an ancient temple that may be connected to the Thirteenth Tribe." He turned slightly to the woman at his side, "Madam President," indicating for her to take over.

"Thank you, Admiral," President Roslin said. "The scrolls of Pythia speak of a temple where the Eye of Jupiter would be found and point the way to Earth. It appears that Mr. Tyrol has found that temple. He is currently inspecting the site with support from Major Adama and his team."

Starbuck's eyes narrowed as she listened. This was the first she'd heard of any temple, and it explained why Lee wasn't at the briefing. A small knot in her chest eased as she realized that the reason she'd not seen him since the incident in sickbay wasn't because he was avoiding her. A desire to be down with him on the surface and exploring the planet had her shifting her weight restlessly from foot to foot until she caught herself and quickly suppressed the feeling, forcing herself back to stilled attention as the President continued.

"They've not discovered the Eye as of yet…and our time may have just come to an end." Roslin quirked a brow at the Admiral, and he took back up from there.

"Four Cylon basestars jumped into orbit ten minutes ago. The Cylons remained outside of weapons range and didn't launch their Raiders. Instead, I received a communication proposing a temporary truce." Starbuck's raised brow wasn't the only expression of surprise around the table at that news. Her eyebrows drew down in a frown at his next words. "They've agreed to not launch their fighters as long as we don't try to retrieve our people from the planet. They're sending over a delegation to discuss their _terms_." With a glance at the time display on the wall, he added, "They'll arrive in thirty minutes. So, I want thoughts, ideas, and plans, people."

_The Cylons are coming here. They want something. Maybe more than just one something, _the thoughts spiked an ice sliver just under Kara's breastbone. She suddenly felt the Admiral's eyes fix on her. Forcing her gaze to remain firm beneath his discerning stare, she took a supporting breath and spoke into the silence, "They know about the Eye…and want it for themselves." When both the Admiral and President nodded in agreement, she continued, "We can't let them have it. If it's really the key to finding Earth, we can't let them get it."

"No, that can't be allowed," President Roslin said, her lips compressing in distaste.

The Admiral looked from one woman to the other. "We'll blow the temple before letting that happen," he grimly agreed, then dropped his gaze to glare at the displayed icons of the basestars and the planet they orbited.

Kara sucked in a breath as the full import of his words registered. If the temple was destroyed, the Cylons would certainly attack both the Galactica and those still stranded on the planet. At odds of four to one, chances were slim of recovering their landing party before the Galactica would be forced to jump away.

_And Lee was down there._

[ I I I I I ]

After settling on what quick and dirty contingency plans they'd managed to come up with in a bare twenty minutes, the Admiral had given her and Athena permission to quickly change into their uniforms if they could be back before the Cylon delegation arrived.

As she had turned to hurry off, the Old Man had gripped her elbow and quietly offered to let her skip the meeting with the Cylons. The worry in his gaze had stiffened her spine and she'd given a shake of the head, answering his unspoken question with an, "I'm fine, really." Then, when he still searched her face, she'd added, "And I promise not to shoot any of them. At least not without orders, Sir." She'd forced one of her trademark Starbuck smirks to her lips and had seen his expression ease.

Now, as she jogged back towards the War Room while trying to button her blue dress top, nausea stirred the gruel she had eaten for breakfast such a short time ago. And her stomach wasn't the only part of her wanting to rebel. She found her strides faltering as she wondered which Cylon models they'd send. Stumbling to an abrupt halt, she leaned back against a support beam in the thankfully empty corridor and bent forward with her hands on her knees, fighting to control her breaths, starting to hyperventilate at the thought of facing any of her tormentors again.

"Frak, frak, frak,, frak," she said with each gulp of air. Then Kara slammed her palms against the metal behind her. Feeling a sting along her right hand, she lifted it and saw a smear of blood from a gouge along her thumb pad. "Great. Just frakkin' great," she muttered, pressing palm to her mouth, the taste of copper from the wound both familiar and strangely comforting. She felt the pain crowd the panic aside. _I can do this. I can do this, _she repeated silently, the mantra helping her to concentrate on slowing her breaths like Cottle had shown her.

"Captain Thrace?" Mathias' voice brought Kara's head up with a jolt. She'd actually gotten so use to the other woman's presence that she'd forgotten she had been tagging along behind Kara.

"I'm fine," she assured her guard, and then forced her feet to carry her forward again.

With her panic attack under control, Kara dropped her hand to her side as she entered the War Room again and moved to where the President stood consulting with her assistant, Tory. The darker woman made a few more scribbles on her pad, then hurried from the room. As Kara stepped into the now vacant space beside the President, she drew an unexpected comfort from the older woman's presence as she met Laura's measuring smile with a twist up of her own lips—the best she could manage.

She saw the brown eyes sharpen and the President said, "Captain, you have something on your lip," gesturing to her own to indicate the offending smudge. Flushing, Kara carefully kept her injured hand at her side, using her left to wipe at her mouth, then gave a questioning look.

"You got it," Laura confirmed, then reached forward to grip Kara's right hand, giving her a slight squeeze probably meant to convey support. The older woman must have felt the dampness, for she released her grip and looked down at her own fingers. The blotch of red on their slender tips was visible to both women. As the dark eyes jerked up to meet green ones, Kara kept hers from dropping beneath the other's scrutinizing regard, even when Laura's low voice asked, "Kara, are you really up for this?"

"I'm good. Look, it's just a scratch. I was rushing and caught it on a corner on the way here." She didn't know if Laura believed her, but she must have decided to let the matter drop for she casually wiped the crimson off on the underside of her hem and turned towards the hatch as a Marine stepped through.

Kara stiffened as she recognized the forms that followed the soldier's entrance. Reminding herself to breath, she concentrated on keeping the rhythm a steady three count on the inhale and another with each exhale. A Cavil model led the way with a Three on his heels. She didn't know if it was D'Anna or not, but the sight of the familiar face further constricted Kara's throat. She tore her gaze from the hated face to the bearded one that stepped through next.

_Baltar! Still alive after New Caprica. Too bad._

At a commotion in the hall, she craned her neck and could just see past the traitorous ex-President to where Athena was confronting a mirror of herself.

All the occupants of the room heard Athena say, "That's Boomer," to Colonel Tigh as she moved to blocked the Eight's entrance.

"Well, you just lost your visiting privileges," Tigh drawled, then, "Hold that thing here until we get back." Starbuck saw the guards jerk their guns up, their warning explicit in the steady muzzles. Tigh obviously decided not to allow the ex-Colonial officer to join the negotiations as he pulled the hatch shut behind him, cutting off her view and pulling her attention back to the three visitors that now stood in front of the Admiral.

Cavil's gaze was impersonal as it swept across the room's occupants, not so D'Anna's—and Kara _knew _then that this was D'Anna when the Cylon woman's lips lifted with just the slightest of knowing smirks when her eyes fell on Starbuck.

Forcing herself to meet her tormentor's gaze and not shift, Kara wet dry lips then immediately cursed herself as the despised grin spread just enough to confirm that the Cylon had seen her nervous action.

Her attention shifted as Baltar sidled forward, trying to engage Roslin. If Kara hadn't held such contempt for the traitor, she might have felt pity as the man tried to make a desperate connection with his fellow humans. Laura rebuffed him with such disdain that Gauis flinched and moved back with defeated steps to stand beside his Cylon companions.

As Cavil, D'Anna, the President and Admiral traded demands and ultimatums, Kara let their words pass over her. She shouldn't be here. Had nothing to add, except maybe to act as a distraction, though she was afraid it was the human pair she was more likely to distract. To prevent that, she kept her stance passive and her eyes firmly focused away from the Cylon delegation. Her thoughts drifted to the planet below and Lee. The hurried contingency plans they'd devised for recovering the landing party were long shots at best, there were just too many of enemy and not enough time. And Kara knew what that meant for Lee, the Chief and her other friends trapped on the surface if shooting broke out between the Galactica and the basestars.

As the President shifted at her side, Kara realized that the sides had come to an impasse and the meeting was over. She looked over at the Cylon woman and knew it was a mistake as D'Anna locked eyes with her again and took a step forward.

"How's the mini-Starbuck? Kacey, right?" the voice falsely solicitous.

Kara took her own step into the space between before answering, "You lost on New Caprica. You'll lose today." The fear was gone now, in its place, smoldering hate fanned the embers of her anger. With a control she hadn't realized she'd regained, Kara kept those flames banked, refusing to them flashover into an attack.

D'Anna tilted her head slightly as she said, "I'd say you were pretty thoroughly _beaten _on New Caprica, wouldn't you," malice lacing the words.

"That's enough!" the Admiral's harsh voice cut through the encounter. "Guards, get these _people _off my ship." The Marines snapped forward, ready to enforce their commander's orders with guns aggressively raised.

As D'Anna turned to follow the other two, she paused long enough to aim over her shoulder, "Leoben sends his love," and the ready smirk returned to her face as she saw by Kara's stricken look that her shot had hit dead center. Apparently satisfied, the Cylon strode after her companions.

Laura reached a hand out and laid it on the Kara's forearm. At the contact, she flinched and backed away from the pair of worried faces.

"Kara," both the man and woman called to her as her eyes darted about the room for an escape.

As they moved towards her, Kara raised a hand, "Don't. I… I just need… I need a minute." Though the Admiral looked ready to protest, Kara saw him stop when Laura touched his hand. The older woman slowly nodded and Kara gave her a grateful look.

All three turned as Gaeta entered, his expression anxious as his eyes shifted between the Admiral and President. Kara heard Adama sigh then address the junior officer, "What is it Mr. Gaeta?"

"Sir, I've been running an extensive analysis of the star system's primary. I checked the results…three times," he thrust a sheet towards Adama. Kara was tempted to try to read over the Admiral's shoulder whatever it was that had the younger man so agitated. Restraining the impulse, she scrutinized her Admiral as his eyes tracked down the report, seeing their narrowing and how his lips thinned as he passed the report on to the President.

"So, this system's sun _could _to go nova at anytime?" the Admiral said.

Kara straightened at his words, other matters forgotten.

_Frak! As if Cylons weren't enough._

"Yes, Sir. I mean it could be in a day…or a year. But once the cascade begins, we'll only have about twenty minutes to jump before the planet, and every other thing within range is obliterated."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Turning to Roslin, "I'll notify Lee of the situation, see what can be done to secure the site. _If _the sun starts to go though…we'll have to blow the temple—whether the Chief's found the Eye or not—and hope to retrieve our people before we're forced to jump."

Adjusting her glasses, Laura replied, "I understand, Bill. We'll just have to pray that that doesn't become necessary."

Laura quirked a brow at him when he replied, "I'll leave that in your good hands then."

As Kara watched the interaction, and saw an intimacy between the pair she hadn't noticed before, it made her uncomfortable and yet…sort of happy. They deserved what comfort they could find in each other. The temporary warmth of the recognition of their relationship faded as the waves of anxiety D'Anna had left in her wake surged forward again.

With the pressure building in her chest, Kara searched for something to do to relieve it before she was swept into another panic attack. Still grounded, she had no place on the flight deck. And she'd already given the Admiral her best ideas so he didn't need her in CIC. So, until the Chief found the Eye, the stalemate with the Cylons was likely to go on for hours or even days. The need to _do _something, anything, to deal with the turbulent whirlpool of emotions the Cylons' presence had stirred within her had Kara snapping into an attention stance, drawing the Admiral's eyes her way.

"Sir, do you need anything else?"

"No, that's all, Captain."

"Kara," Laura's voice drew her gaze reluctantly to the older woman. "We have a little time to talk if you'd like," she offered.

"Thanks, but I've something I've got to do." Kara didn't miss the disappointed look that passed between the pair. Meeting the eye's of her surrogate father, she added, "I wanted to thank you for the paints, Sir. They helped." She knew he'd understood her when the worry eased from his eyes and he gave a nod of approval.

"I'm glad. In that case, proceed, Captain."

As she turned from the pair, she trusted that he'd fill Laura in on the gift and that she was astute enough to understand what it meant for Kara. Hurrying from the room, she glanced around the corridor, empty save for the stoically waiting Sergeant Mathias. Kara briefly wondered where Athena had disappeared to since their Cylons _guests _had been kicked off the ship.

Her long strides made short work of the trip to the civilian area of the ship. Now that she stood before the open hatch to the childcare room, excited chattering skipped to her ears as she stared at the barely controlled chaos within. The noise by itself should have driven her away, and yet… It was so different… So out of tune with the internal voices whose mocking she was trying to silence, that it was mesmerizing, had a siren quality that insisted that she respond. Step by hesitant step, Kara waded into the current of laughing and playing children.

She had nearly sidled her way to the lockers, when she was accosted by an older teenaged girl holding a little boy.

"Hi ya. You Captain Thrace then?" asked the dark-haired youth as she shifted the squirming child's weight to her hip. "Nancy said you might stop by. Today's kinda wild. But you should _so_ stay. Can't promise quiet. Well, I could but I'd be lying so why bother. I'll try to keep the kids from pestering you. Course, no promises there either," the girl cheerily rattled on, oblivious to the toddler's attempts to get down. "I'm Tammy, by the way. Tammy Turvo. Of the Turvo Picons." The girl's expression closed over for a moment with remembered loss. At least it stopped the torrent of words and allowed Kara to edge away, putting distance between herself the adolescent before Tammy could start prattling on again.

"I'm just, uh, gonna to stay for a little while," Kara said.

"Sure, no problem." The teenager's attention finally turned to the bundle in her arms as the boy pointed behind her. "If any of the kids get to bothering you, just give me a holler," she said as she hurried off towards a group of three boys whose voices were rising above the general din of the room.

Casting another look about the busy, noise-drenched space, Kara wondered if she really _wanted_ to stay. She pulled the chain from about her neck and squeezed the ring, locker key…and dual set of dog tags tightly in her fist as she closed her eyes. The chattering and energy of the room again wove its spell and she could feel the loosening of the tangled net of emotions that had been strangling her since seeing D'Anna.

So, with the tackle box and fresh canvas in hand, she turned from her locker and setup her supplies. With the first stroke of turquoise another line of the stifling net twanged apart. Swirls and dabs flowed beneath her hand as everything else faded away.


	89. Chapter 89 Conspiracy Revealed

Chapter 89 Conspiracy Revealed

Hours later, feeling like she'd purged the tempest D'Anna had swirled to the surface, Kara debated returning to sickbay or checking in with CIC. Reluctantly, she turned her steps toward Cottle's domain.

_Better at least check in with the old goat. Gotta stay on his good side—if I can find it._

She gave the Doc a smirk as he turned at hearing her steps enter Life Stations. Her grin slid off, though, as she read the distress in his eyes.

_Frak. What now? _

Whatever it was must be pretty major for it to rattle Cottle she realized as she cast anxious eyes around sickbay, looking for signs that they had injured personnel. The place looked just as she'd left it, so she turned her questioning gaze back on the physician.

"So, what's up Doc?" Seeing his eyes shift towards Sharon's empty bed, Kara inhaled sharply. "Where's Athena." The twist in her gut tightened as he again avoided her eyes by rubbing slowly at his brow. "Where the _frak _is Sharon!" she demanded, her voice rising.

"Keep it down, Captain. This is still a hospital." His sharp retort echoed in the quiet area. He still refused to meet her gaze, but waved her to follow him. Her steps hesitated, then she lengthened them to catch up. As she entered his office, he took a seat behind the desk and lifted haunted eyes to her green ones. A shudder passed through Kara and she took a step back from the physician.

"She dead, isn't she? That's why you won't tell me." She was surprised how calm her voice came out when it felt like she was shaking in dread, waiting for his confirmation.

"She's not dead. Cylons don't die. You know that, Thrace," Cottle gruffly answered. "She's probably downloading, or whatever the hell they call it, on that basestar of theirs."

_Right. Not dead. Not dead. Just… _

"How…" She cleared her throat and tried again, "What happened?"

She saw Cottle force the words into the air between them. "Hera's alive. Boomer told Athena that the Cylons have her on one of their basestars here. Captain Agathon shot his wife so she could go get their little girl," he said in a rush.

Kara jerked back as if slapped as she saw guilt and shame deepen the lines on the aged face before her. "That's not possible… Hera's dead. You _told_ them she was dead." Her voice dropped to a disbelieving whisper, "She's dead. You said she died."

"The President…said it had to be done. For the child's sake. Couldn't allow her to be raised by a Cylon. Better if everyone thought she had died," Cottle's voice was heavy with regret and self-reproach.

Kara opened her mouth but there were no words for the betrayal. The President—_Laura_—_and Cottle,_ someone she'd trusted nearly as much as the Old Man, had stolen her friends' child? Put them through hell and claimed it was for the greater good?

She refused to look at him when he cleared his throat and said, "You're released from sickbay. The Admiral said you're to continue to stay in his quarters until further notice."

Leaving him behind in the office, she gathered her few personal items and headed towards the Admiral's cabin. When her feet veered down a branching corridor, Kara let them carry her onward until she halted in front of Karl's closed hatch. A Marine guard stood outside and acknowledged her with a salute.

"Captain Agathon inside?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral and expression flat.

"Yes, Sir." The guard hesitated, he obviously knew Starbuck's reputation and probably didn't want to get her upset with him. His eyes strayed over her shoulder as she heard Sergeant Mathias halt behind her. Kara didn't even glance back, but she knew her shadow must have given the young man some signal, for she saw the relief enter his eyes and he carefully added, "Captain Agathon's confined to quarters, Sir… But, nothing was said about no visitors." The Marine undogged the hatch and swung it open. She stepped through, knowing Mathias would give her this privacy and wait outside.

Kara looked around the cabin, her eyes widening as she saw the blood- streaked wall…and then Karl where he sat slumped on his double-wide bunk. He hadn't changed yet, the red splatters making dark blots on the blue of his uniform. She swallowed as he raised eyes fraught with pain, shock and exhaustion to meet hers. Crossing the cabin, she sat beside her friend and took his blood-caked hand in hers, squeezing to let him know he wasn't alone in this.

When his voice finally came, it was quiet with a hollow quality she'd never heard before, "She begged me. Begged me to shoot her." His gazed dropped to stare at their clasped hands. "And I did." He turned to her again. "They took our baby girl and told us she was dead."

"I know, Karl. Cottle told me," she said softly, giving his hand another squeeze. _Gods! Never seen him like this, not even after Hera's death. Supposed death, _she corrected herself.

His large hand clamped around hers, nearly painful in the desperation of his grasp as slow tears tracked down his face. Kara gritted her teeth and hoped he didn't inadvertently break any of her fingers, yet refused to say anything to make him let go. Karl had always been there for her, and she wasn't going to deny any comfort she could provide now.

After awhile the tension within him eased and he released her hand to scrub at his face. Kara took the opportunity to rise and discretely rub feeling back into her sore hand. She searched cupboards until she found a towel. After wetting one end, she returned to the dazed man, lifting his chin and wiping away the speckles of crimson and the salty evidence of his pain. His bleary eyes acknowledged her care as she unbuttoned his stained dress jacket, sliding his arms free and cleaning the smear of red off his neck. She gave Karl the towel and watched as he jerkily rubbed at the blood on his hands. Letting the rag drop, he lay back on his bunk, feet still uncomfortably over the edge, and draped an arm over his eyes.

Kara eased to her knees, careful of her injured side, and unlaced his boots before swinging his long legs onto the bunk. Since he was on top of the blankets, she looked about for something to cover him with. Seeing nothing handy, she shrugged out of her own clean jacket and spread it over the still figure. Worrying her lip, she debated getting him something hot to drink…or some of the Chief's brew. As she watched her friend's chest settle into the even up and down rhythm of sleep, Kara decided to wait until he woke again to leave in search of medicinal remedies.

With hands on hips, she surveyed the room, then stooped and retrieved the smudged towel, her wound only giving a small stab as she straightened. Reluctant steps took her to the side of the cabin where the dried pattern of blood marked Sharon's desperation. With silent curses, Kara shoved aside the nausea and anger as she raised her arms and scrubbed at the cold metal surface, ignoring the pull of stitches as she worked her way down the wall. It took over half an hour to scour the area clean, and she was sweating from the unaccustomed exercise by the time she was finally done.

Sagging into the only padded chair in the room, Kara wadded the blood-stained towel into a ball before vehemently tossing it aside. Staring at Karl as he slept, her thoughts ricocheted from the doctor's confession to the situation with the Cylons, finally settling on Lee. Sitting in the room with only the hum of Galactica's engines and Karl's slow breathing in the background, she unfolded her feelings for Lee Adama and mapped them out in her mind.

Poor timing and misunderstandings. Fear and anger. Love and hate. Desire and need. Complicated was an understatement for what existed between Starbuck and Apollo, between Kara and Lee. As she traced their history back to their first meeting, Kara could see clearly for the first time how their relationship kept getting jolted off track by circumstances and their own foolish actions. How many times had they hurt each other, both intentionally and by accident? Why, despite all that pain, did they still find themselves orbiting each other, closer and closer until they came together again? Is this what it meant to be soulmates—to be irresistibly drawn to another to the point of obsession? It certainly felt like that.

And yet…there was Sam…and Dee. Kara knew she loved Sam. Her feelings for him so similar to how she felt for Zak. Remembering her husband's gentle caress and caring eyes, a single tear shook loose from her lashes. Taking a slow breath, she realized that thinking about him now wasn't the crippling mess it was before she'd spoken to Laura. The tangle of guilt had been unwoven, leaving behind a clean pattern of grief over his loss. Yes, she had loved Sam, and she missed his solid belief in her. Like Zak before him, he'd found a way of making her feel like she was good enough to love.

And that was where her relationship with Lee had always taken a hard right turn.

From their first meeting, she'd been in the wrong, flirting with her fianceé's brother over shots, drunkenly daring him to have sex with her. Her part in Zak's death had proved her unworthiness again. Sure, he and the Old Man had forgiven her, yet her weaknesses had been proven over and over since. Between frakkin' Baltar, shooting Lee and the mess she'd made of the Pegasus assignment under Garner, she'd come to believe that she'd never be good enough to deserve Lee Adama. And his angry words over the years—so closely echoing those of her mother's—just confirmed her inadequacies.

And of course, couldn't forget her crowning screw-up, making love to Lee on New Caprica, the planet's promise of a fresh start so clear and right in the dark of night. Waking beside him the next morning, her eyes had immediately been drawn to the scar on his chest, the too visible sign of how she'd hurt him without ever intending to. Her unworthiness had swept upwards from its place in her damaged core to remind her why she was with Sam. It was only a matter of time before she frakked-up again, and then Lee would finally see her for what she was.

And just like her father, Lee would leave.

Kara had survived many things in her life, but the one thing she knew would destroy her entirely was giving her heart to Lee Adama and then watching him walk away. So, she'd chosen the man whose expectations she could meet. She didn't have a load of baggage with Sam. He'd come to know Kara before he ever learned of the crazy, screwed-up Starbuck. And she'd kept her promise. Returned and rescued Sam, a success that had made her flush with a giddiness she hadn't felt since the end of the worlds. She hadn't frakked up.

With Sam, Kara Thrace was finally good enough.

Now as she sat in Karl and Sharon's little cabin, Kara forced herself to re-evaluate the core belief of her unworth. Was Sam less of a man than Lee? How could she be worthy of one and not the other? Was her mother right…or was Laura? She _knew_ she wasn't good enough because she'd been repeatedly told so. She was a screw-up and a quitter. This is what she knew. But maybe…just maybe…it wasn't totally true.

But then there was Leoben…

She opened her eyes, focusing on Karl's still form to hold her in the present as she grappled with the memories of her time with the Cylon male. It was bad enough that so much of her time with Leoben was broken into fragmented images, but the complex swirl of emotions that accompanied them started Kara shaking.

She swallowed repeatedly and clenched her hands together, wanting to forget, yet knowing she had to face the unresolved conflict within herself.

Just like the streams Leoben had always prattled on about, beneath her hot rage and hate ran a river of another emotion for the Cylon. Kara tried to rationalize it. Hostage syndrome 101. Dependent and isolated, the captive becomes fixated on the captor, developing feelings akin to love. The explanation was obvious, it had been his entire plan from the beginning after all, yet knowing that did nothing to change the existence of her feelings.

The bastard had succeeded to that extent.

Shame and disgust flushed her as the shards of restored memory sliced a path of self-loathing. Nothing could change the fact that Leoben had touched her, 'made love' to her…and she'd allowed it. Should have known it wasn't Lee. Should've killed the frakker just like she had so many times before. Well, she might have been able to blame her confusion on her physical state then, but Kara knew she had no such excuse when she'd conceded to Leoben's demands later. Kissing him and saying the words had been a necessity at the time to distract him, gain hers and Kacey's escape, but what she couldn't shake was the truth that he'd forced her to acknowledge to them both. A part of her had come to love him.

_How frakked-up can I get?_

Kara hunched forward, arms wrapped across her mid-section. If this was love, then she didn't want anything more to do with it! Let Lee stay with his pseudo-wife. Be thankful Sam was gone. Stoke her hate until it consumed all other feelings. She sucked in a lung-full of air and forced herself upright, her eyes locking again on her friend as Karl shifted on the bunk.

Sliding her gaze from where Karl lay to the freshly cleaned wall, Kara thought about how much her two friends loved each other. They'd each fought their own people to be together, defying anyone to say their love was impossible. They'd created a life together on Galactica and they'd created life in the form of a little girl.

As Kara studied him, she wondered how Karl could have such trust in Sharon to risk all that he had? If the Cylon woman chose to betray the humans that had stolen her child, she certainly knew enough about the fleet's current defense to wreck her vengeance. Yet, he'd done it anyways. He believed in Sharon and the love they had. Was it possible that not all love was meant to lead to such pain? Kara shook her head. Karl's love hadn't spared him either. Yet…Kara knew instinctively that if she asked him, he'd say it was worth it all. Gods! How did he find the courage? The trust?

And was there anyway for Kara to find that same strength, level of trust, with Lee?

Surging to her feet, she began a slow pace around the cabin, taking care not to wake the exhausted man. Why was she even thinking like this? Lee was with Dee. It was that simple. Maybe…maybe she could rebuild the friendship they'd once had. He seemed still to care for her, at least a little. If they could find a middle ground where they didn't shred each other bloody, maybe a friendship between a CAG and his hotshot pilot was a possibility.

With that thought giving her a hope that she hadn't had before, Kara settled back in the chair and let her eyes close, exhaustion weighting her limbs.

_Yeah, I can do this. _

Friends with Lee like she was with Helo. Have to keep her physical distance, couldn't allow the attraction between them to spark into anything more—as if having Leoben's image superimpose over Lee's whenever they touched wasn't reason enough.

_Right._ _Keep my pants on this time. _

And if her smile was slightly bitter as she drifted off to sleep, there was no one to see it.

[ I I I I I ]

A knock on the hatch jerked Kara and Karl to their feet nearly in unison. The Marine guard opened the hatch and the Admiral stepped in. Kara saw his blue eyes scrutinize both of them before he gave a short nod and spoke, "I want you two in CIC. We've been able to get intermittent messages back and forth to our people on the surface despite the Cylons' jamming, and I need all hands on deck." He turned and strode away, leaving Kara to pass a concerned look with Karl, then shrugged and hurried to follow her commander.

The following hours passed in a kaleidoscope of anxiety and fear.

When the Cylons launched multiple heavy Raiders towards the planet surface, the Admiral had countered with the threat of nuclear strikes to destroy the temple. Watching the craggy face as he gave the order to prep for a barrage that would kill his son and those others still below, Kara's heart had twisted in sympathetic agony at his command decision. She understood. The Cylons _could not _be allowed to get their hands on the way to Earth, regardless of the cost.

Even if the price was Lee.

Recalling how the President had stood at the Admiral's side, she'd seen her own conflict reflected in the older woman's dark gaze. There had been nothing to do but stand with hands clasped behind her back and murmur prayers to the gods beneath her breath. Then it had happened. Five of the six Cylon heavy Raiders had turned back. She'd held her breath as the Admiral debated before finally giving the order to stand down Galactica's missiles. The Chief still had some time to find the Eye and return, if only the last Cylon ship didn't interfere.

An hour later, Kara's head jerk up as Gaeta's voice broke across the CIC. "Sir! The helium flash. The star's going nova!"

"The nova's going to obliterate the entire planet in less than half an hour," the Admiral said, eyes moving between the President and Starbuck.

With palms pressed to the tactical board and jaw clenched, Kara tilted her head back to glare up at the red icons on DRADIS. Time had just run out for the search for the Eye. The Admiral had no choice now. He was going to have to go to one of their contingency plans, and she prayed that they could hold off the four basestars long enough to recover their surface team. Her mind flinched away from the choice the Admiral _should _make, that he should abandon everyone below and jump now before Galactica sustained damage and lost more people in a probable vain attempt at rescue.

Her eyes dropped to meet his blue ones—so like his son's—and saw them harden in decision even as the muscles of his face sagged in grief. He opened his mouth to give the command that would rip both their hearts apart, "Mr. Gae—" he was interrupted as the Colonel suddenly pointed at the DRADIS display."

"The Cylons! They're bugging out!" Tigh shouted in triumph.

Kara's gaze shot back to the screen as the red blots disappeared, leaving the area around the planet free of the enemy menace for the first time in over thirty-six hours. She closed her eyes, releasing the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding as the Admiral's orders swepted across CIC. Three SAR Raptors were already on their way to the surface, and that's when they learned that they'd lost six of the civilians that had been helping protect the temple against the Centurion-loaded Raider and also the Raptor and pilot that had acted as lookout for the defenders.

Gaeta reported that the teams should be back on board in about ten minutes; it was cutting their time too frakkin' close, the initial wave-front from the nova would be right on their heels. She heard the Admiral give the order for the rest of the fleet to execute the jump and for Galactica to be prepared to go the moment the Raptors hit the pads.

As the Lieutenant swung towards the Admiral, Kara turned to hear him say, "Sir, we've another ship incoming from the last position of the basestars… It's one of ours," Gaeta reported, voice rising in surprise.

"Galactica, this is Athena," the familiar voice hummed from the speakers as the Raptor drew closer. "Requesting permission to dock." a slight pause, "I've got Hera."

Kara reached out a hand to grip Karl's shoulder, feeling the shaking beneath her touch. "She did it."

"Never doubted it," his voice was tight with emotion.

As the SAR Raptors made their return approach, Kara followed Karl out of CIC.


	90. Chapter 90 Moments Together

Chapter 90 Moments Together

Kara let the sweep of the paintbrush express the roiling feelings in her gut. A swish of soft green painted her relief on seeing a dust-coated Lee emerge from the SAR Raptor. She added a vertical cone of deep violet to the canvas to reflect his fatigue, like a spiritual bruise, so clearly visible as he'd slowly stepped down from the craft's wing. She swept the brush up until green and violet met in a swirl of confused darkness that so perfectly matched her own urges.

She recalled the moment when Lee had looked up and seen her standing on the catwalk, his gaze locking with hers across the distance. The compulsion to rush down and fling her arms about him had conflicted with the equally strong need to flee before he could ascend the ladder to her position. Transfixed by the discordant desires, she'd stood paralyzed in place and watched as he was hustled off in the opposite direction by the XO. With knuckles white from their grip on the railing, she'd clung to her spot until his form had left the flight deck through the far hatch.

Only then had her knees, hands and jaw unlocked enough to allow her to turn and stumble away. Her steps had gathered strength and speed until she was jogging, then running through the corridors, calling out to 'make a hole' when someone got in her way. Her legs had brought her to the daycare center once more, finally slowing to a stop before the entrance.

Now, staring at the smeared strokes, she wondered why everything had to be in so many conflicting colors. Sometimes the desire to switch to pencil and paper, and let the decisions of shade and hue be left to others, was nearly overwhelming. But even with a pencil, shades of gray could be achieved and texture added. Besides, life without vibrant splashes of red just lacked the bite she thrived on.

So immersed in her thoughts, she jumped when something bumped into her thigh.

Kara looked down at the arms clasped around her leg. Shining blue eyes that reminded her of Lee's met her startled gaze. Kacey's giggle abruptly bounced Lee from her mind as the girl tugged excitedly at her pant leg.

"Kawa! Kawa!" The cherubic face was turned up to her and Kara noticed the smudge of—_peanut butter?_—on her cheek. Kacey gave another tug and her other hand was pointing down now to where Kara saw a splatter of violet had dripped from her brush. Looking around, she spotted a roll of tissue on a nearby table.

"Hey, Kace," it didn't hurt as much to say her name this time, "can you bring me the tissue, honey," she asked, pointing to the roll. She watched as the child solemnly considered her request, then scampered to and back with the item, holding it up to Kara with a pleased grin.

"Thanks, kid."

She cleaned the spot off the metal floor and tossed the stained tissue in a nearby can. Resuming her place in front of the canvas, she tried to ignore the child at her side and all the poignant memories bubbling within her. Kara closed her eyes as she remembered what it felt like to hold her daughter in her arms and see such trust in the innocent wide eyes. It was bittersweet, recalling their time together, and Kara forced her eyes open again to look down at the beguiling pair staring up at her.

"So…do you paint?" Silence. Just the intensity of familiar blue eyes locked to hers. "No, huh. Well…wanna try?"

Kara wasn't sure the rugrat even understood her, yet there was something she couldn't deny in the little girl's expectant expression. So she snagged the nearest chair and sat before the easel and patted her knee. Now, _that_ Kacey clearly understood as she as she held out her arms to be picked up. Settling the child on her lap, Kara sucked on her lip as she surveyed her choice of brushes, finally picking one that had seen better days and it's destruction would be least missed.

"Ok, you hold it like this," she instructed, trying to maneuver stubby fingers into a proper grip on the brush stem. After a few attempts, Kara gave up and let the miniature hand grasp the handle however it wanted. Then, holding the child's arm, she guided the brush towards the orange pigment.

"No," the girl blurted out and pulled her arm from Kara's light grip, promptly plunging the brush into the leaf green paint instead, and then lifting it with a triumphant smile to show Kara. "Gween."

"Right. Green it is," Kara said, hastily taking hold again of the little arm and tipping the brush downward so the color wouldn't run along the handle and stain the munchkin's shirt. Directing the tip at the canvas, Kara let the child mash the brush against the surface, watching the green overshade the colors already on the matting, forming explosions and flowers that surprisingly complimented the already existing hues. "Hey, not half bad for a nugget. You could go a long ways, kid." A giggle was the only response and the brush started back and forth swipes, mangling the previous images. "Ok, now you're just going all impressionist on me. Not that I mind, rather an expert at making messes myself," she said.

Time slipped away again, so Kara didn't know how long she and Kacey had been slinging paint together when someone spoke from just behind her shoulder.

"This I had to see for myself," the familiar male voice was teasingly incredulous. "When Helo said you painted. I bet him twenty cubits he was having me on. Though, now that I get a look at _this_," Lee pointed to the canvas, "I think I may still have won," he said. His obvious exhaustion vied with a grin that made his features look younger than Kara has seen in a long time as she twisted in her seat.

"Everyone's a critic," she said, shifting Kacey's weight and setting the child on her own two feet. At Lee's pointed stare, Kara made the introduction, "This is Kacey, my protégée. Kacey, this is Lee, a cad and CAG in one." She smirked at his expression, then in bemusement when Lee extended his hand, enveloping the smaller one to give a careful handshake.

"Good to meet you, Kacey."

"Hi," the little girl said, vigorously moving her arm up and down. She suddenly broke away with a shouted, "Mama," and streaked across the room to be scooped up by a woman with sandy hair. After giving Kacey a warm hug, the obviously tired woman set the child down, only to be grabbed by the hand and dragged over to where Kara and Lee watched.

"Paint. Paint. I paint," the blonde tyke said, bouncing in place and proudly pointing at the multi-colored splatters on the white background.

"I was just kinda teaching Kacey to paint. Hope that was ok?" Kara said, rising to her feet and feeling suddenly nervous and unsure how Kacey's mom would react to find her daughter with Kara.

She relaxed as the woman smiled and said, "Sure. Anything to keep this livewire busy for a few minutes." Julia Brynn ruffled her daughter's curls with one hand as she added, "Though, how you got her to sit still long enough to paint is a miracle to me. You must have a lot of patience."

"Kacey's a pretty easy kid," Kara said with a shrug. She glanced to the side, seeing Lee's inquisitive look. "This is Lee Ad—" she started to introduce him, but broke off at his slight headshake.

"Just Lee," he quickly put in, extending his hand in greeting.

"Well, it's good to meet you 'just Lee'." The woman smiled over the hand engulfing her own, obviously not immune to the handsome officer's substantial charm. "I'd better take my little tornado and go get into the dinner queue before it's all gone." Both pilots saw concern darken the mother's eyes before she gave them a parting nod and took hold of Kacey's hand to lead the little girl away. At the hatch, Kacey twisted and waved back at them and Kara found her own hand raised in return.

As the loss hit her again, Kara wondered how long it would be before she stopped feeling liked she'd had her feet kicked out from beneath her each time Kacey left her behind. She had tried to avoid the child, but it seemed that fate kept putting the little girl in her path to stumble over time and again. Kara stamped on the urge to race after the pair and pry Kacey away. How often did she have to remind herself that she wasn't fit to be anyone's mother?

Wrenching her heart and eyes away from the departing back of the mother and child, Kara swung around to face Lee. Something of her state must have been visible to him, for his eyes narrowed in speculation before taking on a subtle twinkle.

"Painting and kids," he said. "Not exactly what I expected when I told Helo I needed to find you." His voice was warm and tinged with something Kara couldn't quite name.

"Yeah, well there's lots you don't know about me, Apollo," Kara said, trying to figure out how to extricate herself from his disturbing presence. Despite Cottle's explanation, she still felt all twisted up about what had happened in sickbay and what Lee must think of her. "Look, you said you needed to find me. So, here I am. What do you need, Major," she asked, hoping to shift their encounter to a more professional tone.

"We need to talk, _Kara,_" he said, stressing that he understood what she was trying to do, and had no intention of letting her. "Though I'd suggest a more private place."

"Lee…the other day…it was just a dream, a night-terror or something. Look, the Doc explained things, and I'm fine. Ok? It didn't mean anything and we don't need to talk." She turned her back on him, shrugging out of the color-smeared smock and began to clean and pack away the paints.

"Kara, we _are _going to talk. It doesn't have to be today. I've got to get some rack time." Then, firmly gripping her shoulder, he turned her to face him, "But I had to see you first, and we _will _talk. No more misunderstandings. No more running."

Kara saw the determination in the set of his jaw and furrowed brows and knew that he meant it. He was going to force the issue. And maybe he was right. Maybe there _were _things that needed to be said between them. Tweaking her neck to the left then right, she felt a slight pop and some of the tightness eased. With the loosening though, fatigue set in.

_Damn, I'm tired of feeling tired_.

She met his gaze, "Can we not do this tonight?" letting him see the settling weariness.

"Not tonight, Kara. But soon," he quietly said. Glancing around the bustling room, he added, "I had another reason for finding you. Dad's decided that you no longer need a Marine detail assigned to you. So, I dismissed Sergeant Mathias, and since the Doc said he's kicked you out of sickbay and back to my dad's quarters, I figured I'd make sure you got there Ok."

Kara's eyes flicked to the doorway at his words and she was surprisingly conflicted by the sight of the empty spot where she'd last see Mathias waiting patiently. Frak. Why did the Marine's absence feel like another loss? What was she, like five and needed a babysitter? Kara shoved the feeling aside and turned to give Lee a stony look.

"Lame, Apollo. Like I can't find my own way or handle my own gear. It's not like I moved into sickbay with a load of stuff that I need a big, strong man to haul around for me," she said sarcastically. "Besides, I've already dropped my kit at the Admiral's quarters."

"Well, I just wanted to make sure you were Ok. After everything lately—" he broke off, perhaps knowing that if he said more it would be difficult to stop. Kara was thankful because she really didn't feel up to _that_ discussion right now. Catching the way he was suddenly fidgeting, she realized that there was something else he wanted to say, but was obviously unsure if he dared at the moment.

"For gods-sake, just say it, Lee," she snapped, deciding it was better to hear the bombshell he was holding back then to brood over what it might be.

"Dee and I are finished," he said in a rush. "She's moved out, and I'm petitioning for a divorce. She won't contest it."

Kara blinked at him, hearing the words yet not fully comprehending what they meant. _Dee moved out? Dee moved out… Was their marriage going bust my fault? Don't be stupid, course it was, _she thought, trying to grasp all the permutations of his announcement. She shut her eyes and held up her palm as she felt Lee move in closer.

"I need you to go. Just give me some time to think, Ok, Lee?" she whispered, hoping he wouldn't push her for more. Not tonight.

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow then," he reluctantly agreed, and she felt the presence that was distinctly Lee move away.

She gave it a ten count before opening her eyes, and he was gone. In a slight daze she finished putting away her things and walked out.


	91. Chapter 91 Articulation

Chapter 91 Articulation

"How'd you sleep?" the Admiral nonchalantly asked, looking up from the plate of toast and some type of pseudo-sausage patty. Kara lifted her head, startled from her thoughts by the question.

"Uh, fine, Sir," she automatically answered, and watched his brows lift. She gave a mental sigh and amended, "I mean, I only woke once, so that's good."

"Nightmare?" he gently prompted.

"Yeah, guess so."

She dropped her eyes to the plate before her and, placing the breakfast patty on top the toast, made a small sandwich of it. Glancing back at Adama, she saw that he was still regarding her with that steady gaze. Kara worried her lip, knowing that he was waiting for more. It still just felt so unnatural sharing things with him—with anyone.

Reluctantly, she forced the words out, "It was better, ok. I don't really remember what I dreamed this time. Not like the others." Stiffening as a thought occurred to her, "I didn't…I didn't wake you, did I?" she anxiously asked.

"No. Didn't hear a thing." As she gave him a sharp look, trying to tell if he was leveling with her, he added, "Just wanted to know how you're getting along without the Doc's pills."

Kara shrugged and used the excuse of taking a large bite to forestall further conversation. As the Admiral cut his own patty into bite-sized pieces, she let her thoughts return to their prior worn track. After leaving the daycare last night, she'd turned in early, still finding her energy reserves quickly depleted from her spell in sickbay. Yet, despite feeling exhausted, she'd found sleep elusive. Her frakkin' uncooperative head had insisted on replaying all the moments she and Lee had had since her return from New Caprica.

His cold contempt she'd expected, yet it had still been hard to accept that he hated her so much. The complete one-eighty he'd pulled since her freak-out was another matter. The very last thing she wanted from Lee Adama was his pity.

The toast seemed to stick in her throat and Kara lifted her mug, taking a swig of what passed for coffee. At least it was hot, and the weak brew washed down the dry bite of food.

"Lee told me that he's getting a divorce."

At the Admiral's blandly spoken words, Kara's hand jerked and the cup's contents sloshed over the rim.

"Frak!" she said, hurried setting aside the steaming mug and grabbing a napkin to wipe at the rivulets that ran down her chin and tank top. As the Admiral handed her a second napkin, Kara flitted a look at him, trying to read how he felt about the news. His expression didn't give her any clues and she lowered her eyes, wiping the few drops that had splatter onto the tabletop.

"Sorry," she said, not sure herself which mess she was apologizing for.

"Sometimes these things happen," his response was as vague, and she dared another sidelong look. This time his gaze was blatantly appraising, and he seemed to come to a decision, giving a small nod, and then said, "Always known that you two have feelings for each other. I just didn't think it went beyond being family, what with Zak and everything." As she flinched and averted her face, he reached across the table and took her hand, his grasp firm and warm. "Kara, look at me." She reluctantly returned his gaze. "Zak would've wanted you and Lee to be happy, and if that meant with each other, he would've been fine with that." Giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Just as I am."

Kara's eyes widened and she took a quick breath. Did he mean it? She searched his gaze and saw only acceptance in their blue depths. A small cord of fear uncoiled and release its hold on her chest. He gave her hand an awkward pat and returned to his breakfast and Kara retrieved her mug and took a hefty swallow of the cooling liquid.

[ I I I I I ]

Hesitating at the partially closed hatch to the CAG's office, Kara wondered what the Old Man was getting at, assigning her to help Lee until she was medically cleared to return to light maintenance duty. Before this morning's conversation, she would've thought he was just making a practical suggestion. But his order had come right on the heels of his revelation about Lee. Now she suspected that he had an ulterior motive, though she wasn't sure what he thought to gain by pushing them together. With it being less than three months since Sam's death, she certainly wasn't ready to take up with Lee. _Even assuming he wants me_, she mentally added.

Kara purposely slipped into the protective cloak of Starbuck and shoved through the hatch without bothering to knock. Starbuck doesn't knock—except heads, that is.

She saw Lee look up at her entrance, and her stride hitched for just a moment at the way his face lit on seeing her. Masking her own automatic response, Kara quickly changed her smile to a smirk and slouched down in the second chair by his desk. She started to put her legs up on the edge, but winced at the pull of the stitches and aborted the move. Lee obviously caught her reaction for he straightened in his own chair.

"You Ok?" he asked, concern darkening both his tone and expression.

"Fine. Just the side," she replied. Then, under his silent scrutiny, "Look, according to the Doc, I'm healing 'as good as can be expected with all my shenanigans', so only thing wrong with me now is my screwed-up head."

Seeing his gaze sharpen with disapproval, "_What_, Lee?" she demanded, wondering what she'd said now to piss him off.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what? Cause I know I'm slow sometimes, but I don't have a freaking clue what you're talking about," she said, rising irritation lacing her voice.

"_That's_ what I'm talking about." At her perplexed look, "You denigrate yourself, like you've got to beat everyone else to it. I know it's probably because of your mom," as her face twitched then hardened, Lee quickly continued, "but she was wrong. And you've got to stop listening to her voice in your head."

Kara clenched her jaw and shifted upright in her seat.

_Where the hell did Lee frakkin' Adama get off? Like he hasn't said the same and worse to me how many times in the past?_

With an effort she kept her mouth closed, letting her glare speak for her.

"Look, I know you don't want to talk about your mother. Fine, we won't." She opened her mouth, but clamped her jaw closed with a click of teeth as Lee went on, "Kara, you've got to learn to let it go. The things your mom said, and taught you. They're not who you are."

"You done, Lee?" she asked, a sneer lifting one corner of her mouth. "Because you don't know shit about my mother. So, you ought to just keep your little psyche 101 platitudes to yourself."

"You're right. I don't want to fight, and," he stood, leaning on the desk now. "I don't know about your mom. You won't tell me anything—never have. But I know _you_, Kara Thrace, and you're not the screw-up and lost cause you like to believe. With so many people that care for you, why can't you accept that there must be a reason. That maybe—just maybe—you're worth the effort?"

As she kept her stony stare locked on Lee, she heard his sigh and watched as he looked down and then scrubbed at his face. As his fatigue registered, Kara's frown became one of concern. A glance at the desk with its neat stacks—far too many stacks—of papers, reports and binders made it clear that he was buried under all his responsibilities. She'd forgotten how much paperwork the CAG's job entailed. And with his having been down on the planet looking for the Eye of Jupiter, it appeared that the stacks had bred like bunnies on his desk.

As the image _that_ thought engendered flickered across her mind, Kara felt a flush rise along her throat and she was surprised at the stirring of arousal. What, with Leoben and everything, she hadn't been sure that she even _wanted_ to be interested in sex again. It was one more thing she'd pushed aside and refused to deal with. Now, her physical response was both reassuring and an unwanted reminder that she _hadn't_ confronted those demons yet.

And she sure as hell wasn't going to do it today in Lee's office!

Kara gave a shake of her head to dispel the thoughts and saw that Lee had noticed the change in her demeanor. She tensed as he rose and moved around the desk to squat beside her chair. He started to settle a hand on hers, then aborted the motion, placing it on the armrest instead. Kara's gaze lingered on the strong fingers so close to her own. Seemingly of its own volition, her hand moved the few inches to lay atop his. The warmth beneath her palm was both comfortingly familiar and intimately disturbing.

It was so little…yet too much.

She pulled away, clasping her hands together in her lap and averting her eyes from the hurt look that flickered within his.

"Kara."

"Yeah?" She tensed, expecting him to be angry at her withdrawal.

"There's no hurry. I can wait until you're ready," he quietly stated.

That did it. She was out of her chair in an instant and gave him a vicious shove, sending him sprawling onto his back.

"_Shut up! Don't say that! Don't you DARE sound like him,"_ she shouted, stabbing a finger at Lee as she hovered over his surprised form. Kara saw understanding replace his confused look and she stepped back a pace as sympathy suffused his face. Her own turned a darker red.

"Kara, I'm not Leoben. I won't hur—" he began.

"Don't. Just don't," she interrupted, and then turned away.

_Lords, he knew. They'd told him about Leoben, about what… _

She broke off, clenching her fists and jaw, her stomach roiling with fury and nausea.

_Lee... Leoben... Hands roaming her body._ She shuddered as she tried to shove the images back down, to keep herself grounded in the present.

Then he was behind her. Kara could hear his shallow breathing and practically feel the heat from his body. His presence was pressing against her without even touching.

She abruptly whirled around and attacked, slamming both palms into his chest, driving him back a couple of steps, but following closely. Kara didn't swing or strike straight out; instead, she moved in and hammered at his chest with the bottoms of her fists, pounding at him as she would a door barring her escape. Through the wild mix of emotions that drove her, she felt strong arms wrap around and pull her in close, trapping her fists between their bodies.

"_It's your fault!"_ she was raging at him now, _"You left, but you came back for me. You were there. But you left me again. And it was him. Just like Baltar. You left and he…he…" _she broke off, choking on the bile that clogged her throat.

Even as her body shook, she felt the quiver in Lee's arms about her. His harsh breathing matched her own as it buffeted her bangs. Kara was afraid to close her eyes, afraid that when she opened them it wouldn't be Lee that held her, Lee that was looking at her with such worry that it was siphoning the worst of the hurt and anger away.

Kara managed to slip her arm upwards towards his face. She lightly touched his cheek, feeling the freshly shaved smoothness and tension of his jaw beneath her palm. With one finger, she traced the contour of a dark eyebrow, the right one Lee always arched when questioning something. Moving onto the straight line of his nose and finally to his lips, she let her finger rest there as she stared.

This was Lee.

This was Lee, and not some hallucination. And Lee was letting her touch him, not recoiling in disgust or anger. Could he really have forgiven her for New Caprica? For _that_ morning and her actions during the Occupation? Searching the blue of his eyes, Kara found a swirl of emotion, but no condemnation, and she finally relaxed into his hold, arm sliding around his neck as she let her head fall forward to rest against his shoulder.

"Don't you understand?" she said, just loud enough for him to hear. "I thought it was you. That you'd come back for me." She grimaced, trying to make sense of the conflicting memories. "Gods, Lee. I don't know. It's so confused. You were there... Released me... Took the cuff off and-and I just wanted you to hold me."

"Kara, I… I'm sorry," was all he managed and she felt his arms loosen and one hand begin slow circles on her back.

She pressed her face into the nap of his neck and inhaled. _This_ was Lee. How could she have not been able to tell the difference? Kara kept her head bent into the hollow of his collarbone, unwilling to meet his eyes as she forced herself to continue, "But it wasn't you. It was Leoben. I looked up—when he had finished—and it was _him_. I'd let him touch me. Let him frak me."

Lee was silent so long that Kara felt the fear and rejection blooming within her again. She started to withdrawal, but the arms that held her tightened and she felt a small shudder move through his body.

"No. You didn't know what you were doing," Lee said, and she heard the strain in his voice. "Gods, Kara. You'd been locked away for months, they'd tortured you, and then Anders…" She felt his convulsive swallowing against where her cheek lay along his neck, heard him take a deep breath before continuing. "They messed with your mind. It wasn't your fault."

Lee's words upheld what she'd seen in his eyes. Maybe she could believe it was true. That he didn't blame her. Taking a breath, Kara forced herself to continue. It felt important to get it all out now, while she had the courage.

"Everything after… Well, it's all just flashes." She swallowed as she sorted through images that flipped before her like a blurry slide show. "Laura… Laura said I went catatonic. I don't know, Lee. But I came to later…days?—a week?—but right back in the same frakkin' apartment with him telling me that we were together finally, that'd I'd willing given myself to him. Only I couldn't remember it, any of it. I believed him though. I didn't remember, yet I knew it was true."

Lee shifted her so they were face to face again, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"It wasn't true," he contradicted. "You said it yourself, you thought it was me. Kara, you never gave into that monster." He gave her shoulders an admonishing shake. "What happened wasn't your fault. You got it?"

"There's more, Lee," she said, and felt him tense again. "Knowing—" at his frown, she corrected herself, "_thinking_ of what I'd done, and that I wasn't ever going to get out of that damned place, I decided. They hadn't left me many choices anymore, but there was one."

Kara pulled free from his embrace and lifted her wrist to show him the barely discernible jagged scar. She heard Lee's sharp inhale as he grasped what she had done…tried to do.

"Only he took that choice away, too." Kara rubbed at the scar, remembering the empty desolation of that moment. She kept her head bent and continued, "I was too stupid the first time to do it while he was gone, and he stopped me. But I'd decided. Only before I could, he brought Kacey."

"Kacey? The little girl from yesterday?" Lee asked, and she heard the confusion in his voice. As he tried to work through it, he said "The Chief… He said you'd gone back for a child, that you'd said it was your daughter. What…"

With arms wrapped about herself as the loss hit again, Kara stared over Lee's shoulder. "Leoben showed up with Kacey the day after I tried…" she shrugged, unwilling to actually say the words. At Lee's nod, she went on, "He said she was mine—ours—that she'd come from the ovary they'd taken from me on Caprica. Didn't believe him. Not at first. But then she got hurt and there was this…connection." She turned away as the guilt and fear over Kacey's accident surfaced again.

"Don't, Kara." Lee had his hands on her shoulders and gentle pulled her around. "Tell me," his firm voice and intent gaze broke the frozen words loose.

"I thought she was mine, Lee. Thought I had a daughter." A smile tipped her lips up. "For a few weeks I was someone's mother, and I didn't screw it up. Kacey was… Gods, Lee, she became my world. And it didn't seem to matter anymore that I was locked in a room with that psycho Cylon, because I had Kacey." She lifted her eyes to his and saw only a struggle to understand her. Reassured, she pulled forth the courage to go on. "They were going to take her away. Take her if I didn't do what they wanted... I would've done it, Lee, whatever they demanded. I couldn't lose her."

She felt the hands on her shoulders tighten as the meaning of her words sunk in. Holding her breath, Kara searched for the condemnation she knew she deserved. Lee gave a shake of his head, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Then he took a breath and told her.

"Kara, you were only doing what any mother—any good mother—would do. Protecting your daughter at all costs."

"But she wasn't, wasn't mine," she faltered, but then pushed on. "It was all just a frakkin' lie Leoben told to keep me docile. And it worked." She ground her teeth in shame at how gullible she'd been.

"Kara Thrace, docile, somehow I don't think so." She heard the strain in his words even though they'd been meant to be lightly teasing.

"Well, you're wrong, cause after Kacey came, I stopped fighting, stopped trying to kill him." When she felt Lee stiffen, she quickly added, "No. I didn't…we didn't…" She searched for the words to explain. "Look, he didn't push it and I didn't offer, Ok?" But then, as his hands softened their grip, Kara realized that what she'd said wasn't quite true.

Wetting her lips, she corrected herself. "Except for once... It was during the rescue. I'd gone back for Kacey and Leoben had her. Wouldn't let me take her unless I told him that I loved him and…and kissed him. So I did. Then I slid a knife between his ribs and took Kacey back to Galactica."

Kara faltered again as the memory of Kacey eagerly reaching for her real mother stoked the pain in her chest. She gave a small cough, and it was enough to loosen her throat to release the last bitter truth.

"Only, she wasn't mine. Never was."

Kara bit her lip, trying to keep it from quivering as she fought the tears. She didn't resist as Lee tugged her into his chest and stroked her back again. With an exhale, she released the tears, letting them soak into the rough tanktop pressed against her face. Her grief was quiet this time. Silent streaks of moisture absorbed by the one that held her. Kara wasn't sure how long they remained clasped together, but eventually the tears stopped and she just rested against Lee, letting his warmth comfort her.

Finally, with a long sniff, Kara stepped back out of his gentle embrace and looked at Lee.

"You, Kara Thrace, are a mess," he lightly said, a grin teasing his mouth as he reached forward to tuck a stray lock behind her ear.

"Hey," she protested. "I thought you weren't suppose to do that any more."

"Do what?" His expression was perplexed as he regarded her.

"Call me names," she said, and saw him catch her reference to their earlier conversation about denigrating herself.

"Ummm. Guess that's going to take some getting use to. For me, too." He tweaked her nose. "Besides, I was talking about your face, not your head, Starbuck."

With a half-hearted swipe at his hand, "And what's wrong with my face, Apollo?"

"Not a damned thing. Though I'm glad you don't go in for mascara." He gave a short laugh, and Kara snorted at the mental image of what a true mess she'd be with black smears running from her eyes. As their gazes met, both started to chuckle and then laugh in earnest.

With her hand to her aching ribs, Kara finally straightened and sobered.

"Thanks, Lee," she said. And, despite the stitch in her side, Kara felt as if a suffocating band had been removed from around her chest.

"That's what a wingman's for. You know I've got your back."

"Yeah, I know. I just didn't think—" She broke off at his smirk. "What," she demanded.

"It's going to be damned hard to let openings like that go," he explained.

"Ok. You call bullshit on me and I'll do the same for you, Apollo," she suggested, the cocky Starbuck chutzpah slipping into place now without feeling like the fake mask of the past months.

"In that case, I'm going to be mighty busy." He quickly held up a hand as she started to smugly protest. "No way. That's an honest statement. You can't call me on that. You _know_ you shovel it deep."

"_Maybe…_" she conceded. "So, how do we decide then, Mister CAG?"

"Establish some rules," he paused at her snort, raising an eyebrow. "Like I was saying, figure what's so-so and what's a no-go."

"So-so? No-go? What are you, like ten, Apollo?" she said, giving him a light punch to the shoulder.

"Hey, I'm not the one throwing punches, _Starbuck_."

"You _so_ had it coming."

Lee just smiled and tilted his head slightly. It had been so long since they'd had this easy banter between them. And his smile. Lords, how she's missed his boyish grin. As something that she hardly recognized as happiness warmed her cheeks, Kara quickly tamped down on the unnatural feeling. She was suppose to be mourning Sam, not going all school girl giddy because Lee Adama smiled at her. Seeking to find some balance, she wiped at her damp cheeks and remembered why she'd come to the CAG's office in the first place.

"The Admiral assigned me to help you until Cottle clears me." Giving a wave towards the stacked papers on his desk, "Though from the looks of things, I could pull a few stitches just hefting some of those piles. Been slacking again, Major?"

"Calling your direct superior a slacker will only assure that _your_ pile is twice as thick, Captain," he said, seeming to accept her switch back to a professional basis. "How about you start weeding through this new list of applicants Gaeta sent down. There has to be a few nuggets in a slush pile this thick. Find them for me."

"Sir, yes, Sir," Kara snapped out a mocking salute, then bent to pick up the chair she'd knocked over earlier and positioned it so she only had to glance up to see Lee across from her. With a little care for her sore side, she settled in and began to thumb through the stack.

Every once in awhile she'd peek up at Lee, just to reassure herself that the both of them were really here, working together again. She knew that though _Starbuck and Apollo_ might be back, Kara and Lee were still an unsettled topic. Having his friendship again was more than she had thought possible and, with all her scrambled feelings about Sam, she wasn't ready to face anything deeper with Lee at this time.

So, with the end of the pen lightly tapping her lips, Kara dug into the profiles of prospective pilots and unconsciously hummed to herself. She didn't notice the looks Lee gave her as he took his own quick glances her way. If she had, it would've left her with little doubt that, though he hadn't said it, Lee Adama stilled loved Kara Thrace.


	92. Chapter 92 Maybe

Chapter 92 Maybe

Later that day, as Athena landed the Raptor as light as a kiss on Colonial One's deck, Kara saw the darker woman's smirk through her faceshield. After what had transpired last time, both women had silently agreed to don their full flight gear and helmets before embarking on the delayed trip over to the President's ship. With a textbook landing this time, Kara ran through a litany of possible quips to toss out, but decided to not raz Sharon after all, deciding that it was simply nice to see her smiling again with the reunion of her family.

Since the Cylon woman's return to Galactica with Hera, and a model Six, in tow, they hadn't really had a chance to talk. She'd heard from the Old Man that he'd foregone any disciplinary action, but had firmly expressed to Athena and Helo his displeasure at their unilateral decision.

Once the pilot finished with her power-down checklist, both women removed their helmets and she watched Sharon straighten her ponytail. Clearing her throat, Kara caught her attention.

"Surprised you offered to shuttle my ass over, after last time," she said, searching for an appropriate opening to question Athena further.

"Yeah, well I figured I owed you one, for looking after Karl for me," said Sharon, then her voice turned teasing, "Besides, I'm trying to make a few points with the CAG. And I know he's selective over who watches your ass, Starbuck."

Kara tried to tamp down on the heat she felt rising to her cheeks, and she gave Athena a dirty look meant to quell any more comments about her and Lee. If there was even a her and Lee. She still didn't know what to feel about him, not at least in _that_ way.

Forcing her wayward thoughts back to their original track, "I wanted to ask," she had to clear her throat again before continuing, "the Six. Why'd you bring her back? Why'd she come? It's not like anyone's gonna just take your word and trust her," Kara said, more sharply than she'd intended. She was trying not to resent Sharon for bringing the Cylon onboard, but it was hard as her chest twisted at just the thought of the tall blonde sitting below decks in the specially designed holding cell. Kara took her lower lip between her teeth to calm herself and prevent less charitable words from spilling forth.

She didn't miss Sharon's concerned look, and she turned her gaze forward, watching the Colonial One's deck crew jockey's their shuttle into the small hanger bay.

"Kara, I know it has to be difficult, having Caprica on Galactica, but she's not the one. Not the _Six_ that…that did things to you," Sharon tried to explain, stumbling over exactly what _had_ been done to Kara. "Each copy is different, and Caprica, while she shares some of the memories of the other Sixes, she's had her own experiences, and those have shaped her. She doesn't want Cylons and Humans to fight anymore, that's why she helped me escape with Hera. And if she had stayed, the others would have boxed her."

"So, she was just trying to save her skin, huh?"

"I guess. But she chose, just like I did. She took a stand against her programming, and the other models. And she chose to come to Galactica, to face whatever the Admiral and President might decided to do with her…to her." At her pause, Kara looked over and saw Sharon wet her lips before continuing in a strained voice, "We know about Gina. All the Sixes have heard what happened to her on the Pegasus. She was too far out to download, but-but what _I_ knew, they learned when I downloaded. For Caprica to have the courage to come with me…"

Kara understood what was left unsaid, and she wondered what she would've done in the same circumstances. Probably said 'frak the bastards' and left Sharon to fend for herself. It was strange to see how things might appear from a Cylon point of view, and unsettling, too.

Switching topics, "So, you staying?" she asked.

"No. Since the Doc cleared me, the Admiral let me make this run with you. But he hasn't reinstated me to full status, yet." Athena reached forward and to toggle the hatch switch then added, "Just call when you're ready to be picked up."

With a nod, Kara stood and exited the Raptor, helmet still held under one arm. She didn't look back as she strode away.

[ I I I I I ]

As the President's assistant, Troy, waved her through, Kara entered the lounge that Roslin used for her informal meetings. Seeing Roslin's redhead still bent over a stack of document, Kara took a moment to survey the room, not having been in the cabin since Laura resumed the Presidency after New Caprica. She noted that the picture of Baltar was missing from the wall. She'd seen it once, prior to the Occupation, when Tyrol had insisted she accompany him under the mistaken belief that she'd have some sway with Baltar when he confronted the President about his plans for the Workers' Union. A satisfied smile teased her lips at its absence. But, her smile quickly died when she recognized the white board with a number marked on it that hung in the picture's place. That number, representing the total known count of humanity still alive, was less by some five thousand souls since she'd last seen it.

Most of those were lost on the surface of New Caprica.

Kara's eyes stung and she blinked until her sight cleared again. Sam was just one of so many, yet his death gave the numbers context. There were so few people left that each loss was a calamity…a potentially mortal blow to the human race's long term chance of survival.

"That'll be all for now, Tory." The President's voice cut through Kara's thoughts before they could spiral further, and she swung her attention back to the figure behind the ornate desk, the one décor piece holdover she recognized from Baltar's occupancy.

At Roslin's wave to sit, Kara sank into one of the well-padded chairs, barely suppressing the urge to purr at the cushy support. She was use to the Galactica's…_well-used_…furniture and trappings. After all, the battlestar was about to be decommissioned, so none of the bean counters had seen the need to repair, let alone replace, the old furnishings with new in the months prior to the war. So, though Kara had long grown accustomed to the hard racks and sagging seats of the old ship, it just meant that she was more aware of the rare pleasure of a truly comfortable chair. She wondered what were the chances of finagling one of them for the CAG's office. With as many hours Lee spent hunched over his desk, he could certainly use a better seat. Besides, then she'd be able to enjoy it on occasion, too.

Still lightly stroking the armrests, she looked up and caught Laura's bemused expression, and hastily said, "Uh, nice chair," then grinned and gave a sheepish shrug. "Don't suppose you have a spare one you'd like to be rid of?"

"I can look into it," Laura replied, hand rising to hide her mouth.

"Apollo's been complaining about his back lately. It might help, is all."

"Well, we certainly can't have Major Apollo sidelined because of a preventable medical condition, so I'm sure I can arrange _something_." With that, Laura settled further back in her own seat and templed her fingers, and Kara recognized the shift in the older woman's focus and felt her own body tense in response. "How are you doing? I understand you've been released from sickbay?"

"Cottle kicked me out last night, so I'm back with the Admiral." Kara worried her lip for a moment before asking, "Do…do you think I should try to convince the Old Man to let me move back into the bunkroom?"

"Why, has the Admiral said anything to make you think he wants you to leave?" inquired Laura with a concerned look. At Kara's uneasy shrug, Laura asked more forcefully, "Kara, what is it?"

"He's the _Admiral_," she blurted. Then in a little more subdued tone, "I don't get why he's doing this, spending so much time with me…on me." As Laura rested her forehead on her hand and took a deep breath, Kara knew the older woman was trying to gather her strength and patience, she'd seen it often enough with her teachers and superiors in the past to recognize the gesture. Clenching her hands, Kara looked away, not understanding what she'd said to upset Laura, but knowing that she'd done it again, opened her big mouth and said too much.

"I know it's hard for you to accept, Kara, but Bill's just trying to prove to you that he cares, that you're important to him."

"Why?" Kara couldn't help but ask, eyes still averted as she stared unseeing out the window at the star-pricked blackness.

"He's trying desperately to convince you that he didn't mean what he said _that_ day." Laura didn't specify which day, and Kara didn't need to ask. "You wouldn't accept his apology, believe his words, so he's hoping to show you by his actions. William Adama loves you as a father as surely as if you had been born by Lee's mother."

"But why?" again Kara asked.

Before New Caprica, she had been willing to accept the bond between her and the Old Man, figuring it was only because of Zak, and that had been enough for her before. Now though, it didn't make sense. You just don't take someone in, put up with her craziness, and keep pushing to be included in her life, just because she _might_ have become your daughter-in-law if things had gone differently. Sure she was an asset to the fleet, yet even there she wasn't irreplaceable anymore. They had the pilots from the Pegasus…and Kat. It wouldn't take much of a stretch to see the petite woman filling the roles Kara had once held, both professionally and personally for the Admiral. So why was he bothering with her?

"Oh, Kara." Laura shook her head. "What'll it take to make you see that you're worthy of love, and not just the senior Adama's. I've seen the way Lee Adama looks at you. And then there was Samuel. And Zak before him."

Though her gaze was still averted, Kara was listening, trying to grasp onto a premise that sifted through her hands. On one hand, her mother's voice still echoed in the back of her mind, reminding her how she was never good enough...and hadn't the gods sided with her mom, taking away those Kara had had the audacity to love, just to prove the point? Yet, balanced against that were the words of those like Laura, the Old Man, and Lee. Even Sam and Zak. Each, through deeds and words, stated a case for her value.

Torn between the two competing assertions, the best she could think was…

Maybe.

And maybe carried on its syllables the promise of hope. Where maybe was planted, the sprouts of belief could grow. Within the realm of maybe, worthiness was attainable. And _that_ was more than Kara had ever thought possible.

She turned her head and met Laura's questioning gaze with a lift of her chin, and said, "Maybe."


	93. Chapter 93 Matched Set

Chapter 93 Matched Set

While going through her pre-flight checklist, Kara thought about the past month.

It was some forty days ago that she had crept into a dark hole and felt her world and sanity crumble to dust about her.

The Viper's gauges flashed green, and she started the computer diagnostic and while waiting, counted back the significant days. Thirty days ago and she'd found herself sharing a cabin with the Admiral. Starbuck smirked at how scandalized the military echelons of the Twelve Colonies would have been if they'd still lived. A female Captain cohabitating with her Admiral, a man old enough to be her dad.

Computer systems a go.

She did a comm check with the communications officer on duty, vaguely thankful that it wasn't Dee. Though she'd been happy enough that it had been Dualla handling comm when she and Athena had barely avoided getting turned into wreckage twenty-two days past when their Raptor exploded.

Now, as she was cleared by the LSO to launch in her first flight after having being reinstated, it felt more like a lifetime rather than closer to two months since she'd last shot out into the welcoming embrace of space.

As she accelerated away from the bulky confines of the battlestar, Kara flexed her fingers, reassured that all the painting she'd been getting in lately had kept them nimble. A glance to the right confirmed her wingman sliding into position off her starboard flank.

Her wingman.

Apollo.

Lee.

He'd insisted, of course, that he be the one watching her back during this, her first flight since being grounded. Starbuck's automatic irritation was sloughed aside by the warmth Kara felt at having Lee share the CAP with her.

Toggling her comm on, she hailed him. "Apollo, Starbuck. Ready when you are for our first lap."

"Starbuck, Apollo. Lead the way," came his brisk reply through the familiar static of the helmet speaker.

Nudging the Viper over, Starbuck slid into a course that would encircle the fleet, and she also slid into memories of the ten days since she'd told Lee about Kacey. Their time together after the confrontation in his office followed the same pattern as the first, at least in so far that she spent the mornings helping Lee with his mound of paperwork. They'd made a game of calling Bullshit on each other when one of them said a remark that was just a little too self-disparaging. Kara had even coined a hand-scooping motion to use instead of words, so they could still challenge the other even if they weren't alone.

A week ago Cottle had finally released her for limited maintenance duty in the mornings, and she'd taken to showing up at the CAG's office just prior to lunch to drag Lee off for a meal, then companionably spent a couple of hours helping him with paperwork. When he finally went off to stand his mid-afternoon shift in CIC, she usually stay behind, taking the opportunity to luxuriate in the chair sent over from Colonial One, and work on the revised pilot training courses. They still met most evenings to workout together in the gym, Lee making sure she didn't overdue it in her hurry to get cleared to fly again.

"Starbuck, Apollo," Lee's voice cut into her meandering thoughts "What's say we dust off some of those fancy maneuvers you're so famous for?"

"Roger that. Whatcha got in mind?"

"Why don't we start small, say…a few Germinon Tri-star rolls to warm-up?"

Kara's brows rose. Tri-star rolls were a _'small'_ evolution? She grinned as she wondered what Lee planned next if they were just _warming up_ with one of the more involved moves a Viper was capable of.

Keying her comm, "Sure thing, Apollo. I just figured you'd want to whet our teeth on a Hulari Cross-Thatch Pivot or two, you know, ease me back in and all," she shot back at him, naming the first Black-class maneuver that came to mind, knowing that he wouldn't even consider it as it required such perfect timing between two pilots that it was rarely performed, even for stunt flying demonstration purposes.

"Maybe another day. Let's just see what you can do with those rolls," he replied, and Kara could hear his grin even through the line. "Starbuck, you lead and I'll follow."

"Like usual… Don't lose me now, Apollo."

"Not a chance," he fervently said, and Kara heard how much was conveyed in those three words.

[ I I I I I ]

A couple of hours later, they finally settled back into a trajectory that would loop them around the fleet for the last lap of their CAP rotation. Kara was sweating and frowned at the realization that the Doc had been right to limit her to only three hours her first time back. Resolving to have Lee start running with her again in the mornings, she grimaced at the need, having thought she'd built back up a lot more stamina in the past few weeks than she obviously had. It was disconcerting to find that she still had a long ways to go before she was one-hundred percent again.

And the physical side wasn't the only area she still had to work on.

Remembering the panic attack that had hit her this morning in the shower had Kara shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She had shaken it off after only a few seconds but it had rattled her; not having had one in several days, she'd kinda assumed they were a thing of the past. For the briefest of moments, she had questioned the advisability of her flying, but had instinctively known that she was safe in her Viper—at least safe from flashbacks.

She was frakkin' Starbuck, after all, and she refused to doubt herself in the air.

Within her Viper, slicing across the star-speckled black, Kara looked to her side and was comforted by the closeness of Lee's ship. True to his word, Apollo had stuck to her wing through each evolution. He'd pushed her, never giving evidence in deed or word that he held any doubts about her readiness to be back in the cockpit.

And his support lately hadn't been limited to the air.

During their time together, Kara had started to share some of her experiences with him. Usually it was on the days following one of her sessions with Laura, and she would offhandedly bring up something discussed the night before. Lee listened. He didn't ask questions, didn't push for more than what she was volunteering, he just listened to her and seemed to understood that she was trying to open herself to him as she had never dared before.

Kara's stomach knotted in a way that no number of Germinon rolls would stimulate and she swallowed repeated against the brief nausea. Who would've thought that Starbuck, a pilot that never got queasy in the air, would find mere words enough to bring bile to the back of her throat. She gave a slightly bitter chuckle, knowing that her comm wasn't on and she'd not have to explain. Kara opened herself the enveloping blackness about her and felt the tension in her back ease. She could never explain to a groundpounder how space never felt cold to her, how the expanse that stretched beyond her limited vision gave her a sense of freedom not available any place else.

_Lords of Kobol, I've missed this,_ she thought and followed up with a prayer, something she hadn't been doing much of since her return to Galactica. As the peace about her settled within, she purposely let her thoughts trail back over the memories of the of the past couple of weeks.

It had steadily become easier to discuss her experiences with Laura. Easier, yes, but far from fun as Kara still found it repugnant sharing her thoughts and feelings. She no longer felt the need to guard each word, afraid that it would be the one that brought a look of contempt and disgust to the older woman's face. And finding the courage to trust that those in her life wouldn't suddenly turn from her because of her revelations was one of the hardest things Kara had ever done. But she was getting there, in spurts and starts, but finally accepting the risk.

Now that she was back on active duty, Laura had agreed just last night to drop their twice a week talks to once a week, with the proviso that Kara seek her out if something came up. She'd reluctantly agreed, having thought that the all-clear from Cottle would have also ended her required sessions with Laura, too.

Again Kara chuckled to herself, this time with a true note of humor supporting the sound. She, more than most, knew that Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies, wasn't about to leave a task unfinished. And the woman had obviously decided that she wasn't finished with one Kara Thrace yet.

After each visit, Kara had primarily felt exhausted—she could only wonder at the older woman's stamina—but each time she'd also been both angry and relieved on the Raptor flight back to Galactica. Laura had insisted on dragging from her so many feelings, at first only about New Caprica, but later their discussions had segwayed to other areas, including Kara's relationships, both romantic and otherwise, even eventually they'd got around to talking about her parents.

No, it hadn't been easy or pleasant, but once the initial roil of emotions had subsided, Kara had found a growing sense of expanding, as if cords that had bound her were, one by one, releasing their hold.

So it was that Kara had agreed, reluctantly because she was Starbuck, but agreed none-the-less to continue her visits.

"Hey Starbuck," Lee said, his voice pulling her back to the present. "Who wants to bet that we've had a few spectators watching from the observation lounge?"

"I know a sucker bet when I hear it, Apollo."

"So, how about a last fly-by before we set 'em down?"

"Ah, Apollo, you're a man after my own heart." She blinked, immediately realizing exactly what she'd said, and if the pause before he spoke again seemed overly long, Kara decided not to worry about it.

"Starbuck, I think a Top Over/Under Twist should be just the thing."

Kara couldn't help but grin at Lee's choice. The move required two Vipers to fly, cockpit to cockpit, while executing a slow corkscrewing pattern. She'd be able to look up and see Lee inverted directly above her with only a foot or so of space, and two slats of clear shielding separating them.

"Roger that, Apollo. I'm on top," she said, smirking as she envisioned his eye-roll, because that's just how he'd respond her to provocative comment.

"Just form up, and let's do this," he ordered, his grin again there for all to hear.

She took her position, and Starbuck and Apollo performed the move together perfectly.

A matched set once again.


	94. Chapter 94 TKO

Chapter 94 TKO

To Kara, the recycled air of the gym suddenly seemed insufficient to fill her lungs.

It has only been two days since her first CAP and she couldn't help thinking that Cottle would have a conniption fit if he knew she was doing this. Of course, he'd cleared her for flying, so she could reasonable argue that meant she was fine for _any_ physical activity, including sparring.

But that wasn't why she hesitated.

_This is a frakkin' bad idea_, she thought. Especially after how she'd reacted the last time she'd donned boxing mitts that evening with Karl and Laura.

"Lee…" she began, but trailed off, staring down at the gloves, a memory of revulsion making her want to fling them aside. She sensed him watching her, and wondered if he knew why she was so reluctant. As she turned anxious eyes to his, Lee moved closer.

"Kara?" he gently asked.

"Ok… I can do this…" she muttered, more to herself than him. She removed her sweatjacket and tossed it aside, then toed off her running shoes. As she turned to him, holding out the gloves, she said, "Help me with these. But…use a slip knot. I…I need to be able to get them off this time."

She felt his concern in the way he searched her face before nodding an acceptance, and she was grateful when he didn't demand an explanation. Instead, he held the gloves so she could push her hands in each and then, with great care, tied each so it could be easily undone.

Watching Lee strap on his own gloves and step onto the mat, Kara again hesitated, knowing the violence that so quickly came to her since New Caprica. She knew she was finally getting control of her anger, but she was also tired of hurting those she cared about. Did she really want to throwdown with Lee? Would she be able to control herself—stop once she started? Somehow she knew that if they faced each other like this, it was going to go beyond a simple sparring match. They'd cleared a few hurdles together, yet there was still a lot of ground they hadn't covered.

"Lee, I don't know… This doesn't seem such a bright idea," she hedged.

It seemed that she and Lee might finally be getting on the same page, for he appeared to understand her fear when he said, "Hey, you know I trust you with my life. Maybe not my good looks, but always with my life." He held her eyes locked to his own azure ones, letting her see that he had no reservations in this.

Deciding to trust that maybe he knew her better than she herself, at least in this case, she took her position opposite him on the mat and assumed a guard stance.

"Ready?" he asked. At her nod, "Alright." Pounding his fists together once more, she watched as Lee settled into his own ready stance and waved her to start.

"You do realize you're going down," she goaded him, beginning to circle and bounce to warm her muscles.

"Still talk a big game. Let's see some action," he replied, maintaining his distance as he rolled his shoulders. Suddenly stepping into her, he said, "Let's dance then, Thrace."

[ I I I I I ]

Exhausted, Kara reeled back as the weak blow struck the side of her face. She staggered, then caught her balance at the last moment to keep from going down. With a low groan, she stood bent over, resting hands on her knees as she gathered breath again before finding her own burst of energy in return and launched a combination at Lee's head and body. The fact that there wasn't any strength anymore behind her punches didn't stop them from causing Lee to stumble under their impact.

They'd been going at each other for just shy of an hour now, and both were obviously reaching their limits. A distant part of her was vaguely worried that she'd managed to bring Lee to this point. He should be wiping the mat with her since she was still recovering her previous condition.

Watching him pause to catch his own breath, Kara suspected that he wasn't eating enough, especially since every meal she took with him, he insisted on 'fobbing off' half his rations on her, claiming she need the extra calories to regain the weight she'd lost and, besides, he couldn't stomach that much of what the mess was calling food theses days.

Kara barely pulled her head aside to avoid a lunging punch, but still lost her balance as his weight followed through and connected with her shoulder. The pair were suddenly falling in a tangle of limbs onto the mat together.

Gasping, she lay sprawled with Lee draped half over her, and blinked at the overhead lights, trying to see through eyes stinging with sweat. A muffled groan escaped her as Lee rolled himself off. She pushed the mouthguard out and ran her tongue along her cut lip, automatically cataloging the damage. One bloody nose, confirmed with a swipe of a gloved hand, still bleeding a little; the left side of her face felt hot and her jaw ached, at least one black eye to show off tomorrow. Still gulping air, she was at least comforted by the general, overall ache in her torso. No sharp pains, so no bad ribs. Thank the gods for that. Her legs protested as she bent her knees. It had seemed a good idea a little while ago, using kicks and sweeps to even the field between her and Lee. _Maybe not so much after all_, she thought as bruised shins and tight hamstrings throbbed their protested.

All in all, she was in one piece—a sore and multi-colored one—but functional.

_Note to self, avoid Cottle at all costs for next few days._

Rolling her head, she surveyed the figure at her side. She was surprised by Lee's smile. It was a bloody one, yet genuine. She chuckled at how goofy he looked grinning around the mouthguard he hadn't yet spit out. His laugh joined hers as he reached up and pulled free the rubber mouthpiece, his arm flopping back down close enough to brush hers.

"Gods! We're so…frakked up," Kara choked out.

"Do I…have to…call BS on you?" Lee warned between gasps for air.

"No, Sir," she impudently replied.

Then she sobered as she considered what she and Lee had just done to each other. What had started out relatively light-hearted, had devolved into a form of payback. Too many of the blows they'd exchanged had had real intent behind them—on both sides. Only an occasional word had been spoken once their sparring had turned serious, just enough to put the next furious series of strikes into context. Her cut lip had come on the heels of Lee saying 'Baltar', and 'Groundbreaking' had proceeded the blow to her nose that had sent her reeling. She knew he was referring to their night together on New Caprica—or more precisely, her actions the next morning. And Lee hadn't gotten off lightly, either. His own bloody nose stood witness to Kara's fist flashing forward as she'd said Dee's name.

She wished they didn't have such trouble using words between them. So often meanings were misconstrued or lies flung for no purpose but to injure. With Laura, and Sharon to a lesser extent, she was finally finding it possible to express her feelings without resorting to fists. Kara had thought she and Lee were also slowly feeling their way towards articulating their thoughts and emotions verbally.

Yet, here they lay, battered and exhausted.

With her teeth, she released the slip knots and wrenched the gloves off, tossing them aside and laying one forearm over her eyes.

A touch lightly tugged at her elbow and she let him pull her arm down, and rolled her head again towards Lee.

"What's going through that head of yours? he gently asked.

"Why'd we do this, Lee," her bleak reply. "Why do we always do this to each other?" She saw something flicker across his face as he considered her words.

"I don't know, Kara." He twitched out a finger and snagged one of hers. "I'm sorry if this was a mistake. Just thought we could spar. Release some this…this whatever it is between us. Guess I still had a lot of anger at you. Blamed you for what happened with us." She blinked and looked away, knowing how much she deserved his anger and just thankful that he didn't hate her anymore.

"It's Ok."

"No, Kara, it's not Ok," he sharply corrected, and fully grasping her hand now, continued, "I've done quite a bit of thinking these past weeks. Our relationship, everything that's happened between us? It's as much my fault as yours. I've stepped back, pushed you away, nearly as many times as you have me." He shook his head, lips tightening as he continued, "I was afraid to commit."

"But that night—"

"Except that night," he interrupted. "I was desperate. You were going to move to the surface with Sam…and suddenly I realized I was out of time. Just didn't realize that I'd already waited too long."

"It's me—"

Again he interrupted. "Partly. But _only_ partly. I know about your parents, but you forget I have parental issues, too. Mom and dad's marriage," he grimaced, "it wasn't pretty." She met his turbulent eyes, and listened, really tried to listen to what he was saying as he went on. "Kara, I know you idolize my dad." At her frown, he corrected, "Fine, you _'look up to him'_. But for me, he wasn't a good role model."

"He tried, Lee," she said, compelled to defend the Old Man.

"I know he tried, but that's not the point. This isn't about dad, not really, it's about me and about what's you and I have." She saw him groping for words as he looked away, and Kara forced herself to wait, giving him time to think instead of jumping in with a glib remark like usual. When his gaze locked with hers again, the discord in its depth had calmed. "I love you, Kara Thrace. Think I have since the moment we met. Love at first sight—hokey I know—but that was it for me. And this feeling…it scares me, always has. And with our timing…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, our timing's always kinda sucked, huh," she said, and couldn't keep the edge of bitterness from her smirk.

"Timing, history, whatever," he said with a shrug. "Really our biggest problem's been fear. If you feel about me," he paused, and the hesitancy returned to his eyes as he searched hers, "how I feel about you, it's no wonder you ran."

She tried to hold herself still as Lee disengaged his hand and reached out to stroke her cheek. Despite her efforts, though, the feeling of being pulled in two directions was too much. Kara pressed her cheek against his palm even as she raised her own and placed it over Lee's, then slowly pulled his from her face.

"Lee, I…it's…it's too soon. I can't do this." As his started to pull his fingers from hers, "Not now. Not yet. But…" It was the best she could give him, and her heart hoped it was enough. His grip curled about hers and gave a gentle squeeze and she could breath again.

Rolling onto her side to face him, head propped on her shoulder with her hand still tangled in his, Kara discovered, because she wasn't feeling pressured, she actually could give a little more. The words would finally come.

"I love you," she admitted. "But, I loved Sam, too. I know it's wrong to love two people, but I do…did." This time her gaze wavered, but returned to his as she pushed on, "With you, it's like…like flying, all instinct and action. I love it and without it, I-I just… I feel like I've been permanently grounded, you know?" She leaned towards him in her intensity.

"I get it," he said. "It's the same for me. Like I've been boxed in all my life, and I only can burst free when I'm with you, just loss control...be whoever I am." He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and she tightened her grip in response.

Staring over his shoulder, she quietly went on, "With Sam, it was different. Gentler… Quiet. I knew he loved me, never doubted it." She saw Lee flinch but ignored it. "Sammy made me feel safe, kinda like with Zak," she confessed, her gaze flitting away, then to back to his face, afraid how he might take what she'd said. Reassured at his slow nod, she continued, "What happened on New Caprica…between us. That night—in the dark—I could shout out how much I…" she faltered, swallowing against the rising panic of exposing herself so thoroughly.

"Hey, I understand," Lee said, bringing her hand up and lightly kissing it, branding her with blood from his cut lip.

Kara remembered how Sam had kissed her hand once just like that. Guilt burned her where Lee's lips touched and she abruptly yanked her hand free. As hurt confusion suffused his face, Kara sat up and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Damn it, Kara. Don't close me out," he demanded, frustration roughening his voice.

"I'm such a frakkin' mess, and Sam…he's dead. And it's my fault. He got killed because of me… Just like Zak. It's only a matter of time, Lee, before I get you killed, too," she grimly asserted.

She watched him squeeze his eyes shut, then he blinked and swung around so he was sitting cross-legged facing her.

"Kara, we all make choices. The choices Sam—and Zak—made were their own. No one forced them. So, unless you held the gun and pulled the trigger, their deaths weren't your fault. You have to stop believing that everything bad that happens is because of you," he firmly stated.

Kara pulled from her tank the twin dog tags and ring, symbols of the loves that had left her behind, and cupped them in her palm, searching for a way to believe in what Lee had said.

"I'm sorry, Kara." His somber voice drew her eyes. "Sorry for everything you went through on New Caprica. Sorry, for the times I've hurt you. For not understanding why what we felt scared you so." He reached out and cupped a hand behind her neck and she let him pull her forward so they touched forehead to forehead. "And, I'm sorry for abandoning you on that rock for so long. But, most of all, I'm so frakkin' sorry for not seeing how much you were hurting when you came back…for adding to that pain." He pulled back to search her face. "Can you forgive a jealous jackass?"

A genuine smile traveled from her lips to light her eyes. "Guess I can do that, on account of your being a superior asshole. Maybe we can trade. I forgive you and you forgive me for running away?" Her smile started to slip until she saw him gently smile back.

"I can do that. What's say we call it a draw?" he suggested, leaning in to lightly touch his lips to hers, mingling their blood and futures irrevocably together.


	95. Chapter 95 Smackdown

Chapter 95 Smackdown

Kara had been back on full flight duty barely a week when the alarm klaxon sounded, sending all hands to Condition One and her racing for her Viper. The practiced chaos of the flight deck barely touched her as she vaulted into the tight cockpit and flew through her pre-flight checklist with speed born from years of repetition. Then she was in the launch tube and propelled into the dark universe where spangling pricks of explosions heralded the resumption of the war between Cylons and Humans.

As Starbuck surveyed the bedlam spread before her, her palms became clammy within her flight gloves, and she wondered if she really _was_ ready. It had been a year and a half since she'd last targeted Cylon Raiders through her gun sights.

_Frak this!_

She flung her ship into the fray, pulling into line on an enemy that was dogging the tail of a fellow Viper. Squeezing the trigger, she strafed the darkness with glowing beads of destruction. "Splash one," she yelled, exhilaration charging her nerves as the Cylon's ship blew apart beneath the barrage of her guns.

"Thanks, Starbuck," came the relieved voice of Hotdog over her comm, then, "Good to have you dancing with us again, Cap," the younger pilot said, before veering away after an enemy ship.

Starbuck pinned her sights on a sleek Raider off her ten o'clock and kicked the burners of her Viper after her prey. Spinning and weaving amongst the enemy, she shredded one Cylon fighter after another.

"_Frak! _We just lost Jouster," Apollo cursed over the comm as a Viper exploded across the tar-painted spacescape.

Starbuck's guts clenched as she saw the debris from the mangled Colonial ship reeling away. In her momentary distraction, she didn't to notice a Raider swing along her axis. An instinct too deep to question warned her at the last moment, and she tossed her ship into a roll before she even knew where the threat was coming from. As the enemy's shots strafed across her bow, the majority missed due to her split second maneuver, but a few punched through the front portion of the Viper, causing sparks across the control panels as the ship's systems took damage.

"I'm hit!" she called out, even as she continued to twist her craft away from the Raider's fire. Experienced eyes took inventory of her systems' status as she sought to shake the enemy from her six.

"Starbuck, Apollo. Report status," in her ear, the familiar voice demanded a sitrep.

"No joy on weapons control. It's shot to hell," Starbuck said, all the time keeping her ship slicing through the blackness, tossing herself into turns to keep any more oncoming rounds from striking her. "Green on everything else."

"Can you make the barn?" worry edged into his voice.

"Just have to shake some uninvited company," she answered.

"Frak! Who can close on Starbuck?" On hearing Apollo's call for aid on her behalf, Starbuck grimaced—as if she couldn't handle it on her own.

"Negative, Apollo. I've got this," she said even as she pulled to the side to avoid another round of tracer fire.

Seeing a diamond formation of Raiders inbound, a tight smirk crossed her lips as she circled her path towards them at an oblique approach, constantly jockeying her mount through evasive maneuvers to prevent the pursuing Cylon from getting a firm lock. Nearing the grouped enemy that was as yet unaware of her oncoming form, she reduced speed, drawing the following Raider closer.

Ahead, the enemy force abruptly wheeled, finally registering her as a threat. They opened fire as a unit. Shaft streaked towards her even as she suddenly reared her Viper, lunging out of the path of the barrage that continued beyond to shred the pursuing Raider. Despite the darkness rimming her sight from the heavy gees, Starbuck saw the debris from the disintegrating Raider stream through the enemies' formation, causing havoc of its own. Enough of a distraction to allow her time to race away from the confused Cylon group.

Feeling sweat trickle into her eyes, Starbuck blinked rapidly to clear her stinging vision and wished that she could wipe at the annoying perspiration. Swinging her ship towards the safety of the Galactica, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the canned air of flight suit.

Her comm crackled with Kat's voice as the other pilot anxiously reported that she'd lost an engine and needed backup to shake the Raider on her tail. Searching the miniature Dradis screen on her control panel, Starbuck located the other woman's ship indicator.

_Godsdamnit! No help but me close enough, and I can't even spit at the frakkers._

As she sized up the situation, a crazy idea seized her, and she wheeled her Viper away from the safety of the Battlestar, and kicked towards the dancing figures of Kat and her pursuer.

"Kat, Starbuck. I'm on a reciprocal course," she called to her frantically evading shipmate. "Maintain heading. On my mark, drive down _hard_." she calmly ordered.

"Copy Starbuck, down on mark," came the stressed reply.

Over her comm, she heard Apollo's irate voice, "What areyou doing, Starbuck?" he demanded. "You've got no guns!"

Ignoring his words, she narrowed her awareness to the two oncoming ships and her part in their dance of death. A grim smile settled on her face as she found the place of centered calm within. She was in the zone now, and the Viper was an extension of her body that she controlled it with deft expertise. With anticipation coursing through her veins, Starbuck raced to confront the enemy that strove to snuff the life from another of her shipmates.

_Let it come. _

She focused on Kat, watching as the younger pilot desperately slewed her ship from side to side to avoid the fire from the gaining Raider. Nudging her own ship slightly to the right, Starbuck lined herself on a collision course with Kat's Viper—and the closing Cylon right behind her.

"Kat, on my mark," she said, voice reassuringly calm. "Just…a little…closer. _Mark!"_ she called out.

The other Viper dove below her own at the last possible moment.

Then she was face-to-red eye with the oncoming Raider. The enemy ship had started to slant downward after the evading Viper, but Starbuck came directly at it, and then yanked her stick back, forcing her ship's nose into a ninety degree climb as the Raider entered the space she'd inhabited a split second before. Even as she pulled vertical, she triggered her thrusters on full, sending a blast at the top of the Cylon ship as it skimmed just below her tail tips. The supercharged heat burst through the top of the passing machine like a blowtorch, instantly searing the organic component of the Raider and cracking its structural support.

The whole insane maneuver might have come off flawlessly, except that the Cylon had started to angle down after its original target. As Starbuck flamed the surface beneath her Viper's stern, the slightly tilted rear of the enemy ship clipped her tail section, causing her to flip backwards and slam into the splintering Raider. A section of its wingtip broke off as it sliced into the Colonial craft, striking Starbuck's helmet a glancing blow before becoming wedged into the seat beside her head.

Amazingly, the chunk of metal that jutted from the Viper like a reversed horn, had pierced the canopy without shattering the surrounding structure. With the piece of shrapnel acting as a cork, the cockpit still retained most of its atmospheric integrity, at least for the moment. The pilot was as lucky, the helmet had absorbed the impact of the shard's passing hit, but it was partially crumpled and the faceplate badly fractured inward, breaking the airtight seal. Despite the damage, the headgear still provided oxygen to the semi-conscious woman and the cockpit itself was only venting minimal air.

Pain lanced along her temple and down her neck as Kara slowly raised her head, tears mixing with the blood that filled her vision. Distantly she heard voices, but the words were hard to catch, shuffling by like dealt cards. There was something important about them, though… As she tried to grasp why, waves of dizziness kept sweeping the words in and out.

"Starb…. Apollo…port… _Answ…damnit!"_

"Ap…Kat. Raider destroyed …visual on...heavy damage. Comm…ight down.

A graveled voice breaking across the channel sharpened Kara's focus briefly, "All Vipers, Galactica Act... Cylons…jumping awa..." There was a long pause and she drifted again before the voice on their headset continued, "SAR teams outb…birds home…much time. They'll…back…reinforc…" That voice nagged at her with a feeling that she had to do something. Before Kara could follow the trail of thought, though, it ebbed away again.

"Starbuck… Hey Starbuck. You…hear me?" The voices were back, this time like a steady flow, annoyingly persistent, they sluiced the thick fog to a bare mist.

"Kat… You see her?"

"I think... Can't see much,"

"Starbuck…_Damnit! Answer me!" _This time the voice pierced her concussed confusion, parting the last of the haze in a flare of pain. She fumbled at the comm button, "Too…frakkin'…loud." A pause while she breathed through the spiking headache. "Did you get…the number of the bus that hit me?" her hoarse words mumbled across the dark void of space, spreading light in their wake.

"_Damn!_ Starbuck. You got more luck than five people," Kat swore, her relief coming through clearly despite the background static of the comm connection.

"Starbuck, I'll be there in thirty seconds. Hold on, you hear me, Captain!" called Apollo, and she could hear the hope and fear that strung Lee's voice taut.

"Copy that... Holding on," she answered, feeling relieved and vaguely smug at the same time at Apollo's response.

As Kara tried shifting in her seat, the pressure on her left shoulder kept her in pinned in place. Blood blinded, she cautiously reached over with her right hand and felt along the restraining object. Through her gloves, she could tell its surface was smooth and hard beneath her appraising touch. Her questing hand follow its path forward and back, and she swallowed as she realized what the object had to be. Somehow a chunk of debris had pierced her ship, only narrowly missing piercing her in the process.

Guess the gods thought she still had things to do.

[ I I I I I ]

"Starbuck, can you fly this wreck home?" Apollo asked as calmly as he could after seeing the slow spreading of the cracks that permeated the Viper's canopy. He nudged his controls, swinging his own ship around beside hers. There was a long pause before her response.

"I've one hellva hangover," her murmured reply. "Getting a tow sounds mighty good right about now, Sir."

Lee shut his eyes briefly at her words. His fear that she was hurt worse than she was letting on seemed confirmed. But when he opened them again, they were irresistibly drawn to the windshield such a short distance from his own where the lines were inexorably extending their tendrils.

"Sorry, Starbuck. You need to get this horse back in the barn on your own," he said. "Back in the saddle and all that."

There was a lengthy silence during which Lee wondered if Kara had passed out…or worse.

"Uh… So, Apollo. What aren't you telling me?" came her strained question. "Cause you'd better have a good reason for telling a girl to find her own ride home."

"Your…your cockpit… It's not going to hold much longer, Kara" he admitted, feeling chilled despite still heavily sweating.

"Frak me," she muttered. Then, "Have to tell ya, Apollo, kinda flying blind here."

Damn. What else was wrong? He could tell the metal shard was obstructing most of her view, but she should still have had sufficient visibility…unless there was more wrong than what he could see from here. No time to dwell on it. He had to get her back to Galactica before her canopy disintegrated.

Taking a steadying breath, "No problem, Starbuck. Don't I always have your back," he said. "Besides, I've always had a better eye than you. Just listen to me for a change, and I'll get you home," he promised.

"Sir. Yes, Sir," she replied, trying to keep the fear from clogging her voice at the thought of trying to fly—and land—what was left of her Viper while effectively blind. What Lee didn't know was that not only was the Raider shard obscuring over half her view, but the crumpled helmet had slashed a vicious wound across her forehead. Blood filled into her vision and was splashed across the interior of what remained of the faceplate. Kara couldn't even see the stick in her hand, let alone the instrument panel or visually sight out the window.

"Guess we'd better get this over with before company comes back," Apollo said. "Starbuck, you need to steady your heading. Adjust your pitch up a little," he instructed.

Trying to keep her touch light, Kara twitched the control up as she'd been told and immediately felt the ship shudder to obey her command. She could tell that she'd over-corrected and eased back a bit.

"That's it. Now, give her a brief burn. Remember, only the right, high thruster's working, so you're going to have to compensate," he stated, watching as the damaged Viper started valiantly forward. "Ok, swing her 30 degrees to your right and pitch up by another 20," he urged, gauging the ship's—and pilot's—responsiveness to his direction. Damn, she was overcompensating. "Lightly, Starbuck. Stroke don't grab." He grinned as her snort came over the comm at his remark.

"Galactica, Apollo. We're going to need a good crowbar and Doc Cottle once we bring this bird in," he announced to the anxiously listening people in CIC. "And…tell Chief Tyrol that he might have to work fast. I think we might lose the entire canopy on landing," he added.

"Apollo. My helmet…it's compromised, too," Kara admitted. She heard his sharp inhale as he realized what that meant. If the canopy went…and her suit was already damaged…

"Talk to me, Apollo," she demanded, needing to hear his voice to fight off her own fear.

"You're doing great, Starbuck." Lee forced himself to concentrate on getting her down and not worrying about what _might _happen. "Got her headed in the right direction now. Do another three second burn and we'll see if we can't get home a little faster," he ordered, feeling time racing away from them, knowing that her cockpit could completely shatter at any moment or the Cylons could jump back in.

"Estimate three minutes to dock. Ease her more to the right. Say another 10 degrees… That's it."

Starbuck gave up trying to squint through the blood that trailed across her vision and finally just shut her eyes, focusing on the feel of the Viper around her. The sluggish stick in her right hand seemed to match her thoughts as she tried to keep both from wandering off course. She knew she was concussed, and experience had taught her how to handle the muddling of her senses and mind, but this time was harder, not being able to see and fixate on a goal like usual. Even her limbs were slow to respond as she flexed her feet against the pedals, instinctively making micro-adjustments. It didn't help that the shard was pressing on her left shoulder, causing a spreading numbness down that arm.

"Starbuck, you're drifting sharply right. Correct by 30," Apollo anxiously commanded as the damaged vessel veered off course.

Her blonde head jerked up, and Starbuck realized that she'd drifted off herself for a few seconds. Fear gave her an adrenaline punch that helped, but it was fighting a losing battle. She had to find a focus, find something to keep her in the here and now. Usually she'd just bite her lip, letting the pain sharpen her attention, but the painful throbbing of her head, rather than helping, made concentrating more difficult this time. Well, there was one person that could always get under her skin like nothing else.

Keying her comm, " Apollo. I need…frak…what do I need?" she mumbled, then forcing more volume, "Yeah, I need you to talk… Keep talking…to me."

Hearing the disorientation in her words, Lee quickly grasped what she meant, and took a deep breath before replying.

"What. You're going to let me do the talking for a change, Captain?" he lightly teased, knowing he had to help her keep it together. "Listen up then. Nudge your nose up another few degrees." As the other Viper responded, "That's it, Starbuck. Just a little more."

"Apollo. Galactica Actual. Chief's got everything ready," the Admiral reported. Then grimly added, "Doc Cottle's standing by… How's she doing?"

"Hanging in there. We're making our final approach. See you on deck."

"Bring her home, son," Admiral Adama said, and Lee Adama heard all that couldn't be expressed over the open comm.

Turning his attention back to the scarred Viper, he noted that she had started to waver to the side again during his short distraction. Besides, it was time for their last burn.

"Starbuck, you're listing to the right again, and prepare to engage your thruster. A full four second count this time." When she didn't respond or straighten her ship, he tried chiding her, "You're such a slacker, Starbuck, come on feel the burn with me." Still no response. Raising his voice, Apollo sharply demanded_, "Thrace, you kick that frakkin' piece of junk and move your ass! You hear me, Captain?"_

The CAG's harsh voice grated in her ear, causing Kara to jolt back in her seat with a muffled groan. "…frak, Lee…You're a bastard sometimes," she managed through gritted teeth as the pain in her head spiked with his yell.

"You know it, Starbuck. That's why they made me the big, bad CAG," Apollo answered. Then with a touch of scorn, "Now get your fat, lazy ass moving, Captain. Give me a four second burn on my mark. Mark! Burn!" he ordered.

Watching the Viper ahead of him ignite her remaining thruster, Lee exhaled and goosed his own bird after her. The ship ahead cutoff her acceleration after the indicated four seconds.

"Starbuck, we're one minute out. Gonna coast the rest of the way from here… Damnit, you're nosing down again… No, too much," he corrected. Then as the other ship started slewing off line, "Get your _shit _together, Captain!" he yelled again. He could tell she was slipping away, and fear made him angry that she'd gone and gotten herself—both of them—in this mess.

"_Frak you, Lee," _came the fierce reply, Starbuck's voice strengthening with her temper.

A relieved smile twitched across his face as he said, "Get that crate down and we'll discuss it, Captain," ignoring that the entire squadron and CIC was listening. Turning serious again, "Starbuck, you've got to touch that bird down lightly. None of your hopscotching this time. Got it," he said, knowing that too hard a landing could shatter the remaining integrity of her canopy. With fatal results.

"Nice to know…you don't pressure a lady, Sir," her sour reply.

"What lady. All a see is a smart-mouthed Viper Jock that always claimed she could land her bird blindfolded. Time to lay your hand down and prove it, Starbuck," he goaded. Then, further taunting her, "And if you smash up the Chief's Viper any more than you have, he's gonna want his share of your ass, too. You won't be sitting in a cockpit for weeks."

"Blindfolded…and one hand behind my back, I can still out fly you, Apollo," she shot back, feeling the exhilaration of their byplay sloughing aside some of the dragging muzziness in her head.

"Ok, this is it," stated Apollo as they made their descent. "Now , tap her down a few degrees… Easy on the yaw. There… That's it," he calmly said, guiding her with his voice, all their jousting set aside. "Looking golden. Nose up a touch… Starbuck, get that nose up, just a bit… Ok, angle looking spot on. Five and down. Four, three, two, one…"

"_Frak, frak, frak, frak…" _Starbuck frantically muttered, fighting the panicked voice in her head that said to abort, insisting that she couldn't do this. Instead, she forced herself to concentrate on the steady voice in her ear guiding her hand and craft with his confidence.

_Light and easy. Feel for it. Come on hotshot, hold it together. Just…a…little…longer._

Then the deck was beneath her skids. The vibration and scraping came through the seat and the soles of her feet. Easing back further, she tried to keep the nose from dropping into the plating, but the craft fought her and started to skew to the side.

"_Left! Slide her left!"_ Lee called as he saw her start to spin towards the wall.

Starbuck gritted her teeth and compelled her hand to stay light on the stick as she adjusted to the left. It was working, the Viper straightened and settled on all three skids, but was still skimming forward along the landing pad. Tapping the reverse thrusters, she forced the ship to slow.

That was when her luck ran out.

An electrical surge from the shot-up weapons system pulsed through the Viper's circuits, shorting out the entire control panel and sending a jolt up the joystick. Unguided now, the ship slued sideways again. But fortunately, most of the forward momentum was spent and craft connected with the landing bay's wall with only a small shudder of impact…and the canopy held.

Swiftly putting his own bird down, Lee waited for the scurrying deck crew to move him onto the flight deck, all the while anxiously watching the Chief and his people hustle to secure the damaged Viper.

When he was finally cleared to pop his hatch, Lee leaped from his seat, shoving his helmet at a crewman as he rushed towards where they still worked on Kara's ship. Up close, he was struck anew at how incredible it was that she had survived the initial hit.

"Cally, get that damned winch secured," Chief Tyrol calmly yelled at his crew as he directed the removal of the huge shard from the Viper. "Where the frak's my support crane, Rogers!"

"Winch line secured, Chief," Cally said, even as she finished hitching the cable to the crane's hooks, then climbed down from her precariously perched position on the ship's nose cone. Rogers and Chief Tyrol clamped the crane to Galactica's deck, then the Chief vaulted up the ladder to the cockpit.

"Ok, Rogers, ease it up…more…stop!" Tyrol called out, leaning forward to better evaluate the crane's progress. "Right! Take her back slowly. Uncork this piece of junk from my bird. Steady… That's it," he directed, waving the crewman to continue backing away.

Lee knew the deck crew was going as fast as they dared; it just seemed to be taking forever. He could barely make out Starbuck's slumped form in the pilot's compartment, but he was starting to panic as she remained motionless despite the frantic action around her. Shifting again to stay out of the extraction team's way, he pulled off his gloves and ran an agitated hand through his hair.

The Raider remnant scrapped backwards with a loud screech of protest, to finally swing clear of the Viper's structure. Lee watched as the Chief and another crewman, one on each side of the battered Viper, used crowbars to pry at the distorted canopy. Both men grunted with effort , but the capsule refused to budge beneath their efforts.

"Rogers, get that crane back over here. Cally, the winch. I need the micro-saw, Sanders, like yesterday, man, move it!" snapping out orders, Tyrol only spared a second to look in at the now revealed figure of the pilot. It was long enough for him to feel his gut tighten. It looked bad—and more ominously—she still wasn't moving.

Snatching the saw from his man, the Chief went to work on the struts of the hatch even as he noted from the corner of his eye that Cally was looping the winch cord to the strut at his elbow. He handed the saw across the nose to Sanders to cut through his side.

Casting a brief glance around, Tyrol saw Major Adama standing in front of an anxious crowd of onlookers. He gave the officer a quick nod and said, "We'll have her out in a minute, Sir."

The Chief signaled the crane operator to slowly pull the line taut. With the back struts cut, the canopy was peeled forward, finally giving access to the cockpit's occupant. Tyrol called an abrupt halt and waved the medics in to complete the extraction of the injured pilot.

Lee watched the triage team gently lift Kara's limp form, careful to support her head as they made their way down the ladder. As they laid her on the waiting gurney, he sucked in a deep breath at the condition of her helmet. The dented crown and crumpled faceplate, red-splattered and misshapen, completely obscured the face of the woman he loved. As he watched, a medic carefully maneuvered the bloody helmet off, revealing a deep gash that angled across Kara's forehead and eyebrow, it accounted for all the blood.

Lee took in the red-smeared face and headgear and finally understood that Kara had been serious when she'd said she was flying blind. There was no way in hell she'd been able to see anything out of that helmet; she'd had to rely fully upon his directions, he realized.

_Gods, she's amazing! And frakkin' crazy. Taking out two Raiders without even a weapon to throw at them, then landing a wreck while blinded. If she doesn't die, I swear I'm gonna kill her myself._

He watched the second medic remove her glove, checking for a pulse even as they began wheeling the gurney with hurried steps towards sickbay. With a relief that left him nauseous, Lee saw the medic give a nod and say, "Gotta pulse. Let's move it."

Quickly pursuing the men through the corridors, Lee sent a breathless prayer to the gods that they not take Kara now, not after all they'd been through. Entering sickbay on the medics' heels, he anxiously watched as Cottle directed his nurse to cut away the pilot's flight suit. He thought he saw her eyelids flicker, but couldn't be sure, and went to move closer, only to be blocked by the doctor.

"You all might as well get out or take a seat. I've tests to run before I know anything, and that's likely to take awhile," Cottle said dismissively, turning his back on Lee to follow his patient into a curtained area, and decisively shutting the drape behind him.

Lee ached to barge in after the man, demanding to know everything they were doing for Kara, but the rational side of him knew that would only get him kicked out of sickbay and on the Doc's banned list. As the CAG, Lee knew he was suppose to be on the flight deck doing a post-engagement rundown, but he couldn't tear himself away from sickbay. Not, at least, until he knew that Kara was going to be ok. So instead, he tore off his remaining glove and went to lean back against the wall in a corner that gave an unobstructed view of her cubicle.

The CAG duties could frakkin' wait. Lee's duty was to stay right here.

[ I I I I I ]

After about an hour, the doctor approached Lee where he still stood waiting.

Pulling a cigarette, the doctor lit it and took a drag before answering the young man's questioning eyes. "She's going to be fine. Lucky her head's as thick as it is. Took a good knock, so I'll need to keep her under observation for the next twenty-four hours. The laceration might leave a scar, but some of my finer suturing if I say so myself," he huffed, then inhaled a long pull before slowly letting the smoke trickle out again. "You can go sit with her if you want, but no badgering until tomorrow. I don't want to have to separate you two. Got it Major," Cottle warned.

Giving the doctor a relieved, acknowledging nod, Lee hurried past to slip into the curtained enclosure and quietly placed a chair close to Kara's bedside, but didn't sit just yet. Looking down at her sleeping form, his worried gaze traveled from the bandage that extended around her head, partially covering one eye, to the wires and tubes that snaked out from beneath the covering of her hospital gown.

_Gods, she looks so pale—and so beautiful—in that mauled sort of way that only Kara can pull off._

A slightly hysterical laugh tried to slip past his locked jaw. Scrubbing at his face, and the gathering moisture in the corners of his eyes, Lee tried to shove the roiling emotions aside, knowing that they were just the pent up release of his fears.

_She's got to stop pulling stunts like that_. _What the frak was she thinking! _

Taking several calming breaths, Lee felt the constriction in chest ease as he accepted that Kara was going to survive…yet again. Reaching out, he carefully twitched the thin blanket further up, lightly tucking it around her exposed arms. Despite his care, she stirred and moaned slightly. Blinking a green eye against the bright overhead lights, Kara pulled one of the arms he had just tucked in from beneath the covering and fingered the bandage around her head and right eye.

"Guess this headache's not from a hangover, huh?" she murmured, shifting her watering gaze to his.

"Not this time," Lee said, giving her a reassuring smile while easing her hand away from the gauze dressing. He laced his fingers with hers and brought them to his lips for a quick kiss before tucking her arm back under the blanket again. "If you keep scaring me like this, I'm going to stop visiting you in sickbay, you hear me?" he softly said, worry tingeing his words with a mild reprimand.

"Wha—" she cleared her throat and tried again, enunciating slowly, "What's the damage this time?"

"Just a concussion and a cut on your forehead. The Doc says the eye's fine, just swollen from the impact," he reassured her.

"Oh," Her good eye closed, then opened again, sharpening with worry. "Kat? She's ok? Did we…did we lose anyone else? I know Jouster—" Lee put a finger to her lips, shushing the sudden rush of words.

"Kat's fine. Thanks to you," he said. "Jouster didn't make it but everyone else did. You're our only injury." He stroked the blonde locks above the wrap and saw her tension ease even as his own ratcheted up. How many times could she slide along the razor's edge before either tumbling to her death or splitting apart? He'd promised Cottle not to push her, yet the need to shake some sense of self-preservation into her was becoming unbearable.

As it was, his voice shook as he said, "What were you thinking? Taking on two Raiders with an injured bird?" He saw her good eye widen. "Are you still trying to kill yourself? Cause I'll never forgive you, Kara, if you just throw your life away. It'll kill dad…and…I won't survive it either."

Her eye filled with a different type of pain as it locked with his. He hoped she could see the fear—and love—that held him clenched and vulnerable. She looked away once, yet her gaze returned to his and he could see something steady it.

"Lee, I wasn't… I swear I wasn't trying anything like that. It's just that…when Kat got hit…after Jouster—" her breath hitched as she broke off, and he could see her struggle to continue, "Too many deaths, Lee. I had to do _something_, and it was stupid I know. I—" she shook her head, and he saw her immediately regret the action as she looked suddenly nauseous, convulsively swallowing as she clamped her uncovered eye shut.

Concern for her pushed the other emotions aside as he reached forward to gently stroke her twitching jaw and quietly said, "Hey now, Cottle says you need to rest. So, I'm going to sit right here and make sure you do, Ok." Putting action to words as she met his gaze, he slid his hand under the blanket and snagged hers in his before lowering himself into the chair. She gave him a weak smile then let her eyelid droop closed again. As her face and grip slowly relaxed, he could tell she was drifting off.

Lee shut his own eyes for a moment, feeling the release of the coiled fear as he accepted that Kara's actions hadn't been another attempt at self-destruction. No, just another crazy Starbuck stunt born of her wild determination to protect her Galactica family.

At least it was familiar territory and affirmed that she was fully back in the fight again.


	96. Chapter 96 Truce

Chapter 96 Truce

As Kat approached the hospital bed with its blue curtain pushed aside, she firmly reminded herself that she was here to make peace with Starbuck, not get into one of their usual verbal—or physical—sparing matches. She was surprised to see that the Captain was sleeping, her bandaged head turned slightly away. Standing uncertainly at the bedside, Kat realized that she'd never visited Kara in sickbay before. Not that she hadn't had many chances, between the pilot's wild exploits, both in and out of the cockpit, she'd certainly been a frequent enough patient of the Doc's.

Now, staring down at the injured woman, it dawned on Kat why she'd avoided coming all the other times. It was intensely disturbing seeing Starbuck anchored to the bed by tubes and monitors while looking so pale and…mortal. Her reputation might be legendary, but the figure in the bed was still a woman, with all the frailties that came with being human.

In that moment, Kat saw how she'd put the senior pilot on a pedestal, then tried her damnedest to repeatedly knock her off, feeling powerful whenever she'd succeeded. Shame stained her cheeks as she recalled all the times she'd denigrated Kara instead of trying to help her.

_Course, Starbuck probably woulda probably handed me my ass. But, it's not like I ever tried, did I?_ _Why trust me, accept my help? I've certainly never offered before._

Scrutinizing her feelings towards her once flight instructor, she concluded that she had always found an obscure satisfaction in pushing the senior pilot, both personally and professionally. As she tried to understand why that was, Kat questioned why she had needed to lower her opponent to raise her own self-image. Hadn't she chosen to challenge Starbuck because she wanted to best the best? Kat finally acknowledged to herself that she had been so busy trying to cut Kara down, she hadn't seen how she was just lowering herself in the process.

Guilt was like bile in her mouth as Kat came to see the real damage she'd inflicted upon Kara. She'd shown the other woman that her fellow pilots couldn't be relied on…at least not outside of the cockpit. So Kara had hidden her pain behind Starbuck's bitter anger, not believing that she might ask for, and receive, comfort from those around her.

Kat didn't know how she could make things right, but she decided to find a way to help Kara—no matter how _pissy_ Starbuck might get about her attempts.

Standing beside the bed, shifting from foot to foot, she debated whether to wake her or return another time. As if in answer to her dilemma, a clatter echoed through sickbay as a tray hit the ground behind her.

Even as Kat jumped at the harsh noise, she saw Starbuck's instant reaction. The figure in the bed bolted upright, the uncovered green eye wildly searching for the direction of the attack, body tensed to strike out. Kat instinctively stepped back, then stopped as Kara dropped her head into her hands with a low moan. After a minute, the blonde raised her gaze to squint at the person standing beside her bed.

"What the hell, Kat. What're you doing here?" Kara harshly asked, while gingerly pressing fingertips to her temples.

"Good to see you, too," replied Kat, not missing the pained way Kara held her head. "Look…relax, Ok. I just came by to…to see how you're doing. See if ya need anything. And…to thank you for saving my ass out there," she said, then couldn't help adding, "though it was stupid to take on that Raider without guns, Skipper. You still got a death wish or what?" Kat challenged, letting concern raise the heat on her question.

Propping a pillow behind herself, Kara eased back against the support and considered the other woman, searching for why Kat had come to visit her now, when she never had before. Seeing honest worry in the other woman's expressive face, Kara decided maybe it was time she and Kat cleared the air between them. They'd constantly pushed each other's buttons, and she never had quite understood why that was. Maybe Laura was right, talking might make things easier, especially since her head hurt too much to settle things in hers and Kat's usual way.

"You're welcome, and no, I wasn't trying to do suicide-by-Cylon," she said putting forth the best smirk she could manage past the pounding in her temples. Her façade abruptly dropped as she continued, "It's just… I forgot how hard it was, you know, when Jouster… I heard him call out, and then he was just…gone." Averting her eyes, "Then I heard you, and saw the bastard closing on your tail. At first I was gonna just distract it, give you time to get some distance, time for someone else to intercept." Kara paused, examining why she'd decided to attempt to take out the Raider herself. With a sigh, she met Kat's turbulent gaze again and continued. "Guess I had something to prove," she admitted.

"Frak, Starbuck. You don't have to prove anything," protested Kat with a shake of her dark hair.

"_Right…_ I know everyone thinks I'm crazy, or at least crazier," bitterness souring her words as she spit them out, "Starbuck's gone from frakkin'-up to just plain frakked-up, right Kat? I see the stares… The way people stop talking when I come in." She looked down at her hands knotted in the blanket and forced them to relax as she tried to swallow away the knot in her throat. It hurt, knowing that the crew of Galactica, the only people she had, thought she was a broken has-been. Kara grimly admitted to herself that that was why she'd pulled such an outrageous stunt, to prove that she was the same fearless Starbuck of old that could accomplish the impossible in her Viper.

Looking at the bent head, Kat could practically see the thoughts that had driven Kara to the extreme maneuver.

"Starbuck… Look, I'm a bitch. Truth is were a pair of them. You know I won't kiss your ass or tell ya pretty lies. So, know this," locking brown eyes to green, "You got _nothing_ to prove, to me or anybody. We're the ones that frakked-up. Shoulda had your back, and we didn't—I didn't," Kat firmly said.

"Don't need your pity, Katraine."

Kat abruptly changed the thrust of her words, "When the frakkers took out Jouster, you think the rest of us didn't feel the same way you did?" she demanded. "We feel the same with you. Knowing that the motherfrakkers hurt you makes me want to climb in my Viper and just tear the Cylon bastards apart, fry every last one. That isn't pity, that's family."

"Family, huh? What's that suppose to mean, Kat? Cause I never really had one, so…" she trailed off with a shrug.

At Starbuck's words, Kat remembered a snippet of conversation she'd overheard a few weeks back between the Admiral and Apollo, something about Kara's mom, that the woman never should have been allowed custody of a dog, let alone a kid. Now, the connotations of that remark struck a new chord, took on new meaning for Kat.

"The people on Galactica, we're _your _people, Kara. Sure, we fight, bitch and moan, but we're still your people. And you're ours," said Kat, hoping she was making some sense.

Kara fingered her dog tags as she softly said, "You know, it wasn't until I flew a Viper for the first time that I believed that maybe I wasn't a complete screw-up. Something important I could do," she admitted. "And, I never had a home, never really belonged, until I came to Galactica. The Admiral, he… It was strange, you know, having someone care, having someone's respect." Kara rolled her head away, suddenly embarrassed and feeling foolish for sharing with Kat of all people.

"I _do _know what you mean…bout flying—and the Old Man," said Kat. She leaned forward slightly, drawing the green gaze back to hers. "I've been so frakkin' jealous of you since I came to Galactica. '_Vipers and Starbuck'_, everyone touts your name as the best of the best. And the Admiral…we all know how he feels about you." Now it was Kat's turn to avert her eyes, "And I _wanted_ that. Frakkin' wanted it so bad…and didn't consider there might be room for two of us. So I tried to take it from you," she confessed. Raising her head to meet Kara's regard, she strove to make the other woman see her sincerity, "I'm sorry."

Kara held Kat's gaze, testing the honesty of her words, studying their import and cost. She let her lids close over aching eyes, to hide the sudden moisture.

"I'm tired, Kat," she said without looking at the other woman.

"Ok… I should go then," she said, taking the hint. Yet she still hesitated, staring down at Kara's closed-off features before reluctantly turning to leave.

As she started to walk away, she heard Kara speak again, "I could use a change of clothes. Cottle's kicking me out of here tomorrow."

"No problem. I'll bring some by later today. If that's Ok with you?" Kat said as she looked back over her shoulder at the figure on the bed. Kara's eyes were still shut, but she saw the slight nod of the blonde head.

As Kat left sickbay, her step and heart felt lighter than it had in a long time, and she had an idea or two to set in motion.


	97. Chapter 97 Catharsis

Chapter 97 Catharsis

The next day, Cottle released Kara from sickbay with the admonishment to take it easy and return every other day to have the new, smaller bandage changed and sutures checked.

Her steps unconsciously turned towards the CAG's office, but when she saw a woman with platinum-blonde hair step into the corridor a little distance ahead, her stride faltered to a halt and Kara found herself frozen in the middle of the passage. After blinking several times, she was able to discern the obvious differences between this woman and her Cylon tormentor. The figure walking towards her now was at least a foot shorter and significantly plumper than the one that had made Kara's existence a hell on New Caprica. Really, the only true similarity was the striking color of her hair.

As the woman passed by, she gave Kara an odd look, probably because Kara had been staring and was nearly white from the initial shock.

"_Frak, frak, frak," _she muttered to herself as she stepped to the side and leaned back against the supporting structure of Galactica's wall. The low hum and rumble of the ship's engines came through the contact and loosened tensed muscles. She took a deep, cleansing breath and made a decision. Reversing her direction, Kara headed towards the secured section of the ship. It was time she faced this fear, and maybe tame some of the lingering doubts.

[ I I I I I ]

Kara's steps faltered at the threshold of the Cylon holding cell. Then, thumbs tucked into the waistband of her cargos, and elbows wide, she aggressively lifted her chin and entered the cell. After exchanging silent stares with the Cylon prisoner for a few seconds, she ordered the guards to leave her alone with the Six. The two young Marines reluctantly backed out, keeping their guns trained on the captive as they warily exited and locked the door behind them.

With arms crossed in front and face set in a repressive scowl, Starbuck began to pace back and forth before the still silent prisoner. The statuesque blonde gave her a slow once over through eyes narrowed with speculation and caution.

"What do you want, Captain?" Caprica finally asked, breaking the tense silence.

"Other than to watch you die?"

The platinum head ducked in acknowledgment.

"Yes, other than that."

Kara's hands fell to her side as she stopped her restless strides and turned to face the prisoner directly. What did she want from the Six? Did she think the Cylon could somehow just erase the past for her? Did she want to torture this alternate version of her tormentor, make screams come from _her_ this time?

Or maybe…she just wanted to understand.

"Why me?"

Her question held the weight of her anguish. What did the Cylons want with her. What was this special destiny they were determined to force upon her? Leoben couldn't—or wouldn't—tell Kara any specifics that made sense. Maybe she'd have better luck with _this_ Cylon.

The Six moved a step closer, and Kara instinctively tensed, hands raising defensively before her. The Cylon woman froze, then slowly brought her own hands up, palms forward and stepped back the same distance, casting a wary glance towards the guards that stood just beyond the door.

Kara let her fists unclench and arms drop again as the Cylon retreated, but her hard gaze still demanded an answer.

"Many of my brethren say that you'll lead the way to a new future."

"What frakkin' 'new future'?"

"I don't see God's plan. I just know that there _is_ one, and you have a significant role in it. But only the Twos see the currents of unfolding events and the way you shape their flow." Then, at Kara's harsh laugh, "I'm sorry. I expect you've had enough of Leoben's sermons and certainly don't need me to reiterate them."

"So you know about Leoben, about what happened to me in your 'detention center'?" The Cylon gave a reluctant nod.

One hand rising to the bandage on her head, Kara felt her headache abruptly worsen. The room started to tip and she saw the Six start to reach out. Automatically recoiling, Kara stepped back and caught her balance on the cell wall.

_No! Not now. Not frakkin' here._

Taking slow breaths, she held herself in the present, shoving the flashback down.

"Are you…ok, Captain?" Kara's eyes snapped to the Cylon's, looking for the familiar mocking, startled to see only real concern instead. She was surprised again as the Cylon gave a rueful grimace and said, "Of course you're not. Not after what you were subjected to by my brothers and sisters. I _am_ sorry."

The apology appeared genuine and, "Why?" leapt from Kara's lips before she'd even realized she was going to speak.

"It was too like what was done to my sister aboard your Pegasus."

"I would've expected you to be happy, then. Got some of your own back as it were," Kara snapped out.

"Some of my line _do_ feel as you say…" the Six visibly faltered, appearing queasy as she swallowed several times before taking a deep breath and continuing. "But I don't. Vengeance is a human trait. And not one I wish to acquire. Look where it's brought both our races. Yours to the brink of extinction, and mine to the point where we're indulging in the very behaviors for which we condemned _your_ people." The classic features of the woman's face twisted in distaste. "Do you know that the Centurions no longer have free will? Cavil took that from them—and the rest of us let him do it. Where is our superiority now? For those reasons I helped Sharon. Why I'm here now. And why I'm sorry for what was done to you."

"So, we're suppose to believe that you're just a peace loving Cylon?" Kara gave a bitter laugh. "And here I thought all you Sixes liked causing pain. You certainly seemed to enjoy it on New Caprica."

"That was _not_ me. My name's Caprica, and that Six… Well, she choose not to have another designation, claimed it made her too human."

"_Caprica? _You've got to be frakkin' kidding me, right?" Kara incredulously demanded.

"It's just my name."

"So, what? Should I be expecting to hear about a Cylon named Virgon? How about Miss Geminon?" Kara mocked, voice rising as she stepped forward. Her arms were pressed to her side now, fists opening and closing in time with her heartbeats as Kara glared at the figure before her.

"No. In that, I'm unique."

Abruptly it was more than Kara could stand. She rushed the Cylon, using her momentum to slam the prisoner against the cell wall, a hand holding the slim shoulder while she thrust her forearm against the vulnerable throat and leaning into it. "You are _not_ unique. You're a copy, just another frakkin' Six," she hissed up at the face inches from her own.

"You're wrong, Starbuck." At the tall blonde's use of her call sign, Kara pulled away from the wall just enough to give her space to slam the Cylon back again. The face before her looked more sorrowful than concerned, though, and she heard the same concern fill the hated voice as the Cylon said, "I can't let you kill me. And I don't want to hurt you. So, let me help instead.

"_Help?_ I don't need your help now, I needed it then," Kara yelled, shifting more of her weight forward. "You could have helped me escape. Or…you could've killed me," she rasped out the extremity of her remembered anguish at the tense face before her.

"Starbuck…" Caprica wheezed, now barely able to force words past the arm pressing on her windpipe but she still didn't fight back. "I didn't even know…not until later…not until Boomer told me," she panted. "And the others…didn't trust me." She then forced the last out in one quick breath, "And you didn't want to die."

Kara's face was contorted with conflicting emotions as she fought an inner battle. Her clenched jaw ached, and her head was pounding. She shifted back, easing the pressure on Caprica's throat.

"How would _you_ know?"

"Because you're here." Caprica took a deep breath. "You had four months; someone as resourceful as you would've found a way. Yet you endured. My sister Six never understood why she failed to break you—"

"She didn't…didn't fail," Kara bitterly said as she released her hold and stepped back. "She did break me," Kara forced out her shame.

Under the intensity of Caprica's searching look, Kara managed to hold herself still, though her mind was telling her to get away before she revealed any more to this…woman. She was wound up so tight, that she jerked when the Six finally spoke.

"The Six that…did those things was killed when the Resistance raided the detention center during the rescue." Kara blinked, she hadn't known that. Not that it mattered she told herself as Caprica continued. "I know, because I accessed her memories during her download. I know what she did to you. More importantly, I felt her frustration." The blonde coif tilted as she said, "You may have broken for a time, but you fought back. You refused to _stay _broken," Caprica emphatically stated. "And it—I believe the term is—'pissed' her off. She couldn't understand how you carried on."

Kara turned away, scrubbing at the side of her face with a hand that shook. Taking a steadying breath, she turned to the Cylon again. She still didn't understand this Cylon—this _Caprica_. The reasons she'd given so far for her defection made an abstract kind of sense, but Kara couldn't see what really _drove_ the Cylon to risk everything by coming to Galactica. There had to be something in it for _her_ personally. There always was.

"Why do you care?"

After a long pause, "What we did to you was wrong," Caprica finally said, and Kara knew the simple statement was meant to cover everything from the attempted genocide of the human race to Kara's torture.

Searching the eyes of the tall blonde, Kara finallyunderstood.

Guilt was a familiar face to her. She recognized the deep shame that lurked in the gaze of the Cylon woman. At that moment, Kara fully accepted the validity of the Cylons' claims that their emotions were real. What fool would program guilt into a machine that was meant to destroy its enemies. Penance was what Caprica sought. Absolution for the part she'd played in the war between their peoples and the billions of deaths that resulted.

As Kara perceived all the meanings of Caprica's words, a knot in her gut slowly unwound. Understanding the truth of the Six's words let Starbuck believe the other woman's assertion that Leoben—and the Six—hadn't succeeded in beating her.

"Right. Ok," she said curtly, knowing that she'd gotten what she'd come for. Giving Caprica a last nod, Kara turned and strode to the door, knocking for it to be opened. As she left the holding area, she lifted her head and her stride took on some of the swagger of the cocky Viper Jock of old.

[ I I I I I ]

Standing in his quarters and staring at the oil painting over the couch, Bill Adama considered what he'd witnessed just a short time ago. He'd been in the observation cubicle outside of the Cylon holding cell when Kara had entered. Alarmed, he'd nearly sent in the guards but decided, instead, to give her an opportunity to confront her enemy face to face.

It had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do.

He'd been concerned for her physical safety, the Cylon hadn't been restrained, but more than that, he'd been afraid that Kara was about to retreat into the raged-consumed shell that she had hidden within upon her rescue from New Caprica. Unseen, Adama had watched the interaction between the two. The byplay had certainly been informative and, though there had been a few moments when he'd almost intervened, he was glad he hadn't. The renewed confidence evident in his Kara's firm stride when she'd left the brig afterwards had been reward enough for his restraint.

The tall blonde—_Caprica—_he reminded himself, had also been a revelation, reminding him of Sharon in more ways than the obvious. He wasn't ready to fully trust the Cylon, but he was willing to start, if for no other reason than that she had helped give his Kara something she'd obviously had needed.

Adama's gaze lowered from the artwork to the couch—and the piled blanket and pillow set aside at one end. Was it time? Before going to the brig, he had swung by sickbay and had had a lengthy discussion with Cottle. The physician had been guardedly positive since Kara's nightmares were only occurring a few times a week now, and it had been sometime since she'd had one of the violent night-terrors. Laura also had seemed satisfied with her progress when he'd seen her earlier in the day. In fact, it was she that had suggested that it was time for Kara to test her own balance—and moving back to crews' quarters was the next logical step.

Wandering over to the table, Bill tapped the surface as he probed his own feelings. He admitted on one level, he didn't _want_ Kara to move out. He ruefully shook his head. Who would've thought he'd be faced with the empty-nest syndrome at this late stage on his life, he wondered, pinpointing the source of his conflicted emotions. Having been gone by the time the boys had been ready to leave home, he hadn't dealt with this before. And it felt decidedly strange and uncomfortable, now.

With a grimace, he straightened. This was about Kara and her needs, not his.

Crossing to the ship phone, the Admiral gave the command to have Captain Thrace report to his cabin. This was not a decision for him to make alone; he couldn't risk that she might misinterpret this reasons.

Returning again to the painting, Adama clasped his hands behind his back and waited.

[ I I I I I ]

Turning a corner on the way from the Admiral's quarters back to Pilot Country, Kara had to quickly sidestep to avoid colliding with Lee as he came from an intersecting hallway.

"Who set your feet on fire, Apollo?" she teased, giving him a bump with the bag slung over her shoulder.

"Well now, Starbuck, that would be you." He grinned back at her. "Not the first time either as I recall," he said as he gave her a mock scowl.

"My duty to keep you on your toes, Sir." She gave an impudent salute as she turned to resume walking.

"And you do it so well, _Captain_," Lee lightly said, falling into stride at her side. His grin was back, and if there was more warmth in his eyes than appropriate between a CAG and his Lead Pilot, neither cared anymore.

Nudging her dufflebag, "Have a big night at the triad table?" he asked.

"Nah. The Old Man kicked me out." At Lee's startled look and obvious concern, she added, "We talked. Agreed it's time for me to go back to the lowly accommodations appropriate to my rank." Kara could see that he still wasn't reassured by the way his eyes dodged away, and he looked about to turn and head off to confront his dad. Reaching out to touch his arm, she halted them both. "It's fine, Lee. Really. It's time and I need to get back to my rack. Back to being normal again." At his quirked eyebrow and upturned lips, "You know what I mean," she repressively said, all but daring him to make some comment on her ever being 'normal'.

"Ok, I get it," he said. "But my rack's open when you're ready to upgrade."

Kara stiffened, and she could see Lee mental smack himself as he realized what he'd said. Despite their return to the easy friendship of before, and despite their finally opening up to each other, it was too soon to take it to the next level. At least until they got better at relating and restraining themselves from pushing each other's buttons.

Forcing her legs to unlock, Kara resumed walking. Then, knowing that Lee would continue to guiltily gnaw on this if she didn't find a way of defusing it, she willed her voice back to a teasing lightness and said, "Propositioning a subordinate, You finally removing that stick you've been sitting on there, Apollo?" and gave him the brightest Starbuck smirk she could polish off.

His chuckle was worth the effort and they relaxed again.

As they entered the corridor of the pilots' barracks, Starbuck was greeted with enthusiastic claps on the back—so at odds from the prior times when everyone appeared afraid to touch her. And, significantly different than before, she didn't flinched nor feel the need to strike out at the physical contact anymore, either.

Her sharp gaze also didn't miss the mischievous gleam in several of her crewmates' eyes, especially HotDog's, as they welcomed her back. They were definitely '_up to something'_, and it had to do with her. In times past, Starbuck would've suspected a new round of practical jokes were in the works, with her the likely target. But now…

Ah, well. It was good to be back, and she had a feeling she'd find out soon enough what hair-brained scheme the others were plotting. And besides, it felt right, like a bone finally reset in place, the knowledge that whatever was coming, she could handle it again, be it good or bad.

Laura had given her that…with the help of so many others.

Kara decided that she was going to have to give some thought on how to pay them back. She hated having debts hanging over her. But, as she stowed her gear back in her locker, she realized that no number of socks or cigars or whatever were going to be adequate this time. Kara swallowed against the lump in her throat as she accepted that some debts just couldn't be repaid.

She let it drop then, turning instead to watch the antics of the other pilots as they joked and razzed each other. Finally, after so many weeks off New Caprica, it finally felt like she was home again.


	98. Chapter 98 Coronation

A/N: This chapter brings my story to a conclusion. It was never my intention to take this all the way through to the show's canon timeline/ending, but I've brought the relationship arcs to a point where I'm satisfied, and I hope that you will be, too.

More A/N at bottom :)

* * *

Chapter 98 Coronation

A week later, over another sparse dinner with Karl, Sharon and Hera in their quarters, they discussed the newest rotation of scouting missions. With the food shortage getting worse, the Admiral had been forced to schedule round-the-clock Raptor forays, trying to locate any planet with resources that could be processed for human consumption.

Kara glanced up from poking her small piece of cornbread and caught Helo watching her.

"I know you hate cornbread," he nodded towards the crumbling square, "but you should eat it. You're still too thin."

"I'm fine," she said, trying not to get irritated at his hovering. "Cottle's clearing me to fly tomorrow, so I'm fine."

"Heard that before," he said, then gave her an apologetic shrug. "Look, I'm not trying to bust your chops. It's just that that's probably the last piece of cornbread we're likely to ever have."

Catching the look exchanged between Sharon and Karl, she realized that there as more going on than just her picky eating habits.

Leaning forward, "Ok, guys. What's gives? she demanded, sliding the tray aside.

Sharon's sigh drew her eyes and Kara saw the smaller woman cast a worried look at her little girl, so recently returned to them.

"Sharon?"

"The fleet's out of food." At Kara's skeptical look, Sharon nodded and looked over at Karl. Her husband's face was grim and eyes dark as his glance went from his family to Kara.

"It's true," he conceded. "What we've got in the cupboards—and it's next to nothing—is all that's left. The food on the processing ship got contaminated and was added to stores before anyone knew it." He nudged Kara's tray towards her. "So eat the damn cornbread, Starbuck."

The tension she'd felt since arriving suddenly made sense. And it was stupidly comforting that it wasn't about her this time.

_Just great, Thrace. We're all gonna starve to death, and you're just glad it wasn't your fault._

Eying the yellow brick, Kara's stomach tightened and her gaze flicked to the side where Hera had climbed onto Sharon's lap.

"Frak, Karl, then save it for Hera," she said, pushing the tray towards her friend and watching the brief conflict in his eyes before he took a napkin and, careful not to miss any crumbs, wrapped the food for later and rose to tuck it safely away in a locker.

Sharon shifted Hera to her shoulder in a brief hug, and Kara felt her chest tighten as the image of blonde curls replaced dark ones. She quickly looked away. It was getting easier now, dealing with her feelings about Kacey. They'd even painted together two more times. But there were still moments, like now, when Leoben's lie and the little girl's loss caught Kara like a slap to the face. Focusing on Helo as he returned to the table, she pulled her thoughts back to the subject of the contaminated food stores.

"How come I don't know about any of this?" she asked Karl as he pulled his seat closer to Sharon's and settled again.

"Just got the news this afternoon," he said, reaching to take Sharon's hand in his as he continued. "The Admiral wants to keep it under the radar. At least until tomorrow. The last of the ration packs are being distributed to sickbay and the Doc's in charge of making sure that those in desperate need and small children receive them."

"What difference is a day going to make?" She knew she was still missing something as the tension in the small room ratchet up. What the frak wasn't Helo telling her? And why did he look so frakkin' pissed? As Karl refused to meet her apprehensive gaze, it was Sharon that finally spoke up.

"Gaeta's identified a star system within Raptor range. He's says it has a good probability of including a planet capable of producing flora that we could process for food."

"So… That's great, right!" she said, again looking between her two friends.

"Would be if there weren't a truly huge frakking radiation field between us and any planet that might hypothetically exist," Sharon grimly explained.

"Ok… So, there might be food, but we can't get at it."

"Actually," Sharon reluctantly said, "Gaeta thinks it might be possible to plot a course through the field. He's hoping to have some preliminary numbers tomorrow or the next day, then…then a Raptor will try to make the jump."

Kara saw Karl's face tighten and he looked off towards the corner. Then it all came together for her. Kara suddenly knew. Knew just _who_ the Admiral had ordered to make the risky scouting mission. Her gaze narrowed on Athena where she sat rocking her little girl.

"It's you. Because you're a Cylon, the Admiral's sending you," Kara flatly said, more a statement than a question. The darker woman nodded, and Helo abruptly rose, leaving the room and shutting the door to the tiny bathroom behind him. Kara brows drew together at her friend's uncharacteristic retreat, and looked back to Sharon questioningly.

"He's kind of got a thing about radiation…since Caprica," said Sharon, her eyes flicking to the closed door and back to Kara. "Can't say I blame him. But the Admiral's right. I'm the logical choice. According to the Doc I've a much higher tolerance to exposure than humans, so it only makes sense for me to go."

"Frak. Frak!" Kara's chair fell backwards as she jerked to her feet and took a quick turn around the small cabin before stopping in front of Sharon and her child. "I'll do it. I'll go tell the Admiral," she said through gritted teeth. As the dark head opposite her began to shake a no, she hurried on, "Forget it, Sharon. You've got a kid now. You can't go on a suicid—"

"Kara, stop!" Athena broke in on her. "It's has to be me. I've the best chance of making it through and back. Not that I don't appreciate the offer, but…but I can do this. It's not necessarily a… It just has to be me."

With her hands flexing at her side, Kara regarded the younger woman a long moment before finally conceding her point. There were just too many lives riding on this. If Cottle said Sharon had the best chance to succeed, then it had to be her.

"Godsdamnit! You'd better double-time your Cylon ass back here, Lieutenant!" Starbuck fiercely said as she jabbed a finger at the other woman.

"Fak, fak, fak," Hera happily rattled off, looking up at Kara with a wide innocent look.

Both woman blinked at the child before their eyes met over the black curls, and Sharon started to grin, then Kara's own lips twitched up.

"Seriously, Starbuck," said Sharon, miming covering Hera's ears. "You're going to have my daughter sounding like a foul-mouthed Viper Jock before she even knows her ABCs."

"Like that's bad?" The Starbuck smirk fully in evidence now. "Better that then bobbling on like some Raptorhead. Least the kid'll know how to _properly_ express herself."

With the tension broken, they silently agreed to leave the subject of the scouting flight alone and turned to discussing the Eye of Jupiter temple the Chief had found a couple of weeks back.

"By the way, Karl had something he wanted to show you," Sharon said. Then, glancing at the still closed door, she shrugged. "Nevermind. He can see what you think about it later."

"Yeah," Kara agreed, her eyes dropping to the empty trays, and her thoughts returned to the problem of the food shortage.

Starbuck was glad she'd successfully badgered Cottle into agreeing to clear her for flight duty the next day. She was even more determined now to get back out there, knowing that the more eyeballs they had searching, the better chance of finding something before Athena had to make her attempt. Besides, it didn't sound like Gaeta was even positive that they'd find food even if a path was found through the radiation field. And if they couldn't locate a viable source soon, then people would eventually start looking to other options…

Kara grimaced as her imagination supplied suitably gruesome images pulled to mind from stories she'd heard of people that had turned to cannibalism in other desperate situations.

_Let's just say that there aren't a lot of folks I'd like to eat. _

At that, Kara's thoughts took a radical turn down a detour about a certain Major that _did_ look good enough to… She broke off, feeling the flush of her cheeks and mentally mocked her girlish reaction. What was she, like sixteen and swooning over a boy in gym class just because he took off his shirt?

Kara sobered. Since being grounded until her forehead healed, she had again been helping Lee with his CAGly duties. She'd also assigned herself the chore of making sure that he ate enough to keep his strength up, knowing damned well that before he'd been stinting and giving her part of his rations. Last thing they could afford was Apollo making some rook mistake because he was light-headed. So, each morning this past week she'd made a point of insisting he eat one of the military issued ration bars, not particularly appetizing, but chockfull of calories and nutrition. He had protested of course that they needed to be saved for emergencies, but, met with her stony glare, he'd finally relented and now ate his serving with only the occasional clucking sound at her about her mother-hen ways. Though, from what Karl said, even those bars were a thing of the past.

Rounding up her wandering thoughts, Kara looked up as the bathroom door opened and Karl rejoined them. He flashed them a small, but genuine smile as he crossed to give Sharon a quick kiss on the top of her head.

"If you girls are all done gossiping, I thought we might drop Hera off at the daycare for a little while and go look up a card game together," he said, then gently lifted his daughter into his arms so Sharon could rise.

"Feeling Lucky, Helo?" Kara taunted him. "Or, just eager to donate to the Starbuck vacation fund again?" she asked, rising with a grin and rubbing her hands vigorously together. As his lips pulled back to reveal white teeth, there was just the slightest devious look in his eyes that had Kara wondering what she'd missed? Dismissing the passing thought, she followed the trio, suddenly eager to have the chance to sit around the Triad table and give everyone a sound thumping. The relaxed evenings card games were one of the things she'd sorely missed from her life prior to New Caprica.

A short time later, Kara entered the lounge and scanned the full room, searching for a certain pair of blue eyes.

_There_.

Her gazed locked with Lee's over the crowd and for a moment in time she was oblivious to everyone else as he communicated his pleasure at seeing her. The charged exchange between them was broken as a cheer crashed in on her. Blinking, Kara finally took note of the faces all turned expectantly towards her as shouts of _'Starbuck' _ sent glasses rattling on tables and froze her in place in surprise.

Helo took hold of her elbow and drew her further into the room, people parting before him as he moved forward. With an orchestrated flourish, a last group of pilots moved aside, revealing a decorated chair situated at Starbuck's usual place at the Triad table. Her brows rose as she recognized one of the nicer chairs from the Admiral's quarters. It's armrests had received a recent coat of paint—the exact off-white used on Vipers—and detailing had been added to increase it's resemblance to her spacecraft. As the chair was rotated, her eyes widened further when she saw the 'Captain Kara "Starbuck" Thrace' nameplate attached to the back. Laughs ricocheted about at her stunned reaction, and Kara pulled her gaze up to look around with bewildered eyes.

Was this some sort of joke? Their way of saying that she should be riding a desk instead of a Viper?

Lee appeared at her other elbow, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, "They wanted to welcome you back, that's all." His words making it clear that he'd read her misunderstanding of the crew's gesture.

As voices raised, _"Speech! Speech!" _she slipped into full Starbuck mode with an ease that felt like coming home.

"Well, shut the _frak _up so I can be heard!" this brought a round of laughs, everyone knew Starbuck never had problems making herself heard. "I see you all finally realized that my ass should only rest on the best of padding." At someone's shouted, "Your ass is padded enough," she shot back, "Trapeze, you swinging for more double-shifts?" Sliding a grin at the man still at her side, "Cause I've got the CAG's ear and I'm sure I can arrange it." The tall Raptor pilot threw his hands up in mocking surrender and laughter again flowed around the room.

Starbuck turned and, with exaggerated care, lowered herself into the chair, smirk prominent as she leaned back. Her eyes tightened ever so slightly in wariness, though as Kat stepped forward. The darker pilot held the Top Gun stein in her hand.

When she raised it, the room fell silent.

"We all decided," a wave of Kat's hand indicating the surrounding crowd, "that this only belongs to one person." She extended the mug towards Starbuck without hesitation or jealousy in her manner. Looking at it, Kara felt a small shudder release a tension she'd been holding for so long she'd not even known of its existence. Silently, she berated herself for missing something so stupid, and yet…she couldn't deny it. Her sense of self was so tied up in her abilities as a Viper Jock that she hadn't consciously realized how much it bothered her, watching the other pilot using _her _mug. Meeting Kat's eyes, Kara saw an understanding she hadn't expected.

"This is yours," Kat said quietly, her words conveying both acceptance and the offer of a truce.

Taking the prize, "Damned right it is," the words true Starbuck, yet belied by green eyes that met Kat's with a new calmness. Then, raising the stein, "Well, whose gonna fill this? What sort of party is this when my glass is empty!" Breaths that had been held in anticipation of the exchange between the two rival women, gusted out as relieved laughs from the watching crowd.

Kara noted it was Lee that filled her mug from a flask he pulled from his pocket. Taking a sip, she wasn't surprised to find that she'd be drinking water the rest of the night. Obviously he'd known of tonight's planned festivities and had taken it upon himself to help her follow doctor's orders without dimming the Starbuck reputation. She tipped her cup to him with a smile of gratitude and he reached forward to clink his flask against it before knocking back a swig, smacking his lips in faux appreciation of the contents. A giggle slipped past her own lips at his act.

Pointing imperiously at the nearest chair, Starbuck ordered, "Have a seat, Apollo. Now that I've a throne, I'm in need of a court to pay proper homage to my most excellent personage," she intoned, lifting her nose and putting the haughtiest lilt she could into the words.

"So, what, I'm your court jester, Starbuck?" he asked, reversing the indicated chair and straddling it.

"Nope. Already got one of those," this said as she nudged HotDog's chair where the younger pilot perched with it tilted back on two legs. As he started to tip backwards, Constanza's arms flailed and he cried out. Kat, standing right behind, deftly caught him and righted the chair.

"Hey! Not frakkin' funny, Starbuck," came HotDog's chagrined protest.

Kara let her smirk, and the chuckles from around the room, speak for her as she pivoted her attention back to Lee, catching him trying to suppress a grin of his own at the byplay.

"Like I said, Apollo, that's post's already taken." Her eyes locked with his, and her voice was complex with meaning as she said, "I'm in need of a Royal Consort, though." With a quirk of her brow, "Think you're up to it?"

The blue eyes gleamed with an enthralling intensity as Lee answered even the unspoken questions she was asking.

"With you beside me, Kara, I'm up for anything."

THE END

* * *

A/N: First off, thank you to everyone that took the time to read my _little_ fic. And a **MegaTHANKS!** to those of you whose comments kept me primping and posting this thing, I have so looked forward each day to your thoughts and remarks.

I hope you'll be free and loose with some last comments, suggestions, concrit and the like. It really helps to know what did and didn't work for you.

As for where I ended this: I wanted to leave our people at a point where anything was possible, including a future with no 'poof', and hope was the dominant feeling. Let me know if I succeeded.

**Again,**** thank you for coming along for the ride!**


	99. Chapter 99 Plotting A Course

**Author Notes: 7/24/11 **_I had thought that I'd completed this story when I posted it back in the Fall 2010, but I've since got my enthusiasm back and a vision of where I want to take it forward. __  
__My hope is to post one chapter a week. This is ambitious for me and may be subject to change. I've never tried posting WIP and not sure if I can work that way. But, here goes…_

Clarification on timeline. As noted in a prior A/N, I've twisted the timeline slightly so The Passage occurs **after **The Eye of Jupiter & The Rapture. Basically, they did NOT find food on the Temple planet, and were not yet desperate. This picks up the next morning after the last chapter.

* * *

Chapter 99 Plotting A Course

Two hours into her second CAP of the day and the thrill of being back in space had already worn thin as Kara grimaced at the itch she had no way to scratch. The cut on her forehead was nearly healed, but Cottle had insisted on applying a couple of strips of gauze and tape to prevent her helmet from chaffing the new skin.

And now the sucker really itched.

She arched her brows, trying to relieve some of the irritation, but that just reminded her of how tight the helmet felt. Like shoes, it always took awhile to break in a new one. And unfortunately headaches were common. That had to be the reason for the slow throb behind her eyes; it had nothing to do with the fact that the last meal she'd eaten was dinner with Helo some twenty hours ago.

Lee had made the announcement at the morning pilots' briefing. The good humor from the celebration of the night before had ebbed away as the men and women seated around Kara realized exactly what the CAG had said. They understood rationing. But it took longer for most of them to comprehend that the fleet was out of food. As in completely out. The only thing their empty bellies were likely to see in the near future was whatever anyone had stuck away in a hidden stash. Presuming that they were willing to share.

Kara had briefly regretted giving her cornbread to Helo the night before. But only briefly as she remembered how Karl had looked as he'd held Hera in his arms before finally putting her to bed.

The CAG had insisted that the party in her honor shut down at a decent hour with so many scheduled for Raptor runs the next morning. Kara had returned with Sharon and Karl to their quarters afterward because he had something he'd wanted her to take a look at.

The crackle of her comm pulled her back to the present.

"Starbuck, uh, Sunshine here, Sir," the words of the Galactica's newest recruit came hesitantly through the headset. "You think someone'll find a planet today, Sir?"

She frowned, irritated that the nugget was asking her such a stupid question. Like she should _know_.

"What? I've a frakkin' crystal ball in my lap here, Sunshine?" she snapped back.

"Uh…no, Sir. Sorry, Sir," the male voice cracked slightly, reminding Kara of just how young the fleet was taking them these days.

She sighed, knowing that the nugget was just looking for reassurance. But then, weren't they all? Her gloved hand bumped her faceplate as she unconsciously tried again to scratch. She dropped her clutched fist to thump her thigh in frustration, instead. Frak it all! This was supposed to feel good. Getting back into the air. Flying CAP and getting a semblance of normalcy back.

Trouble was, she didn't even know what _normal_ was supposed to be anymore.

Kara recognized that her temper was fueled by hunger and a poor night's sleep as much as being relegated to shepherding a nugget on CAP instead of being assigned a reconnaissance Raptor.

She'd braced Apollo immediately after the morning briefing about why she hadn't been slotted for one of the search patterns. Fully qualified on a Raptor, Starbuck had expected to be sent out, not left behind circling the fleet with a barely post-pubescent wingman. Lee had said that it was doctor's orders. When she'd tried to argue, he'd cut her off, stating that she was needed on alert anyway in case the Cylons attacked, not scouting some distant starscape. She'd wanted to press it further, but when Lee had taken her hand and sworn that he wasn't 'coddling' her, she'd huffed out her frustration and given a grudging nod of acceptance.

Now she was stuck for another four hours on a routine patrol while all the other pilots cleared on Raptors searched for a new food source. Giving herself a mental shake, Kara noticed that while she'd been lost in thought, she'd been drawing a circle on her thigh. Stiffening, the dreams of the night before returned to her. Her restless sleep had been filled with colored swirls that both beckoned and repelled her at the same time.

It was all Karl's fault.

After settling Hera, he'd pulled out a photo that had been taken of a repeating icon that adorned the Temple they'd found several weeks ago. Didn't it look like the painting in her apartment on Caprica, he'd asked? Tracing the too familiar pattern, Kara had shaken her head and handed the slip of paper back to him before abruptly excusing herself.

And here she was now, preoccupied with some stupid symbol left behind by maybe the gods—or the Thirteenth Tribe—or whatever. She hadn't paid much attention at the time, too distracted by the group of Cylons that had come aboard Galactica and by concern for Lee stuck down on the planet below. A part of her wished that she'd questioned the Chief further about what he'd found, but a stronger side reminded her that she had other responsibilities. Like teaching a boy she'd dubbed Sunshine how to properly fly his Viper.

Keying her comm, "Sunshine, Starbuck. What's say we work on your evasive maneuvers." Recalling the recent changes to the training manual, "I've a few tricks I've been saving for just a bright little bulblike you," she said.

Both of them were drenched in sweat by the time their shift ended, but it felt good. Lee was right. This was where she was needed, not off looking at hunks of rock masquerading as planets

…or for some mystical swirly symbols.

[ I I I I I ]

It was two days later and Apollo had just finished his pilot briefing on how Galactica's Raptors were going to lead the fleet through the radiation field. He turned to signal Starbuck to continue.

Stepping forward, "Remember, you're all flying solo on this mission," she warned, her gaze sweeping the subdued room, "so that means there'll be nobody there to bitch-slap you if you get tired or start seeing little toasters off your wing." There were a few half-hearted smirks in response. "We'll be issuing stims. So use them."

Kara saw Kat abruptly straighten in one of the front row seats.

"What? Are you crazy? We can't use stims," Kat said, glaring at Starbuck now.

"Kat, do you have a problem?" Lee snapped out.

Kara clamped her jaw tight, irritated that he obviously thought she needed help dealing with the younger pilot. She shifted her attention forward again as Kat retreated slightly in her seat but continued in a slightly more restrained tone.

"Stims amp up your metabolism. We've got nothing to burn. Stims in our system, we're going to be flying into the sides of the ships."

"You used to like the stims, Kat," the goading words slipped out before Kara was conscious that she was going to say them. She felt the look Lee gave her, and held to a smirk rather than saying any more.

Ever the mediator, "Alright, personal discretion on the stims," Lee said. Then, "We're taking the first load of civilians on board as we speak. That's it. Skids up in four hours."

With an eyeroll, Kara strolled after him out the side hatch as the rest of the pilots slowly made their way toward the back exit. Lee was waiting just outside the ready room. With arms folded, he gave her a measuring look.

"You and Kat at it again?"

"Just the usual bitching." She shrugged. "Besides, we're all feeling kind of strung out. Starving'll do that to you."

"Ok, but I'll have a word w—"

"I got it, Lee. Don't need you _handle_ it," she interrupted, getting irritated that he thought she couldn't deal with Kat on her own. She saw him stiffen in response to her sharp words and mentally sighed. She hadn't meant to snap at him—well, actually she had—but it was just because he'd been hovering every since she'd been released for flight. And it bugged the hell out of her. She grimaced, then said, "Look… Kat and I… We just rub each other the wrong way. I can either put up with her snipes or shut her down. You don't need to worry about it—worry about me."

"But I do. Worry," he said, moving in close and raising a hand toward her cheek. "Are you sleeping ok? Because you look like yo—"

"Frak, Lee," batting his palm away, "Course I'm tired. Everyone is. It's hard to sleep on an empty belly, so just lay off!" she said in a rush, determined to not let him know about the new set of nightmares that had been plaguing her the last few days.

His jaw tightened and blue eyes shifted away from her before snapping back.

"Fine, Kara. Push me away. Just like old times." His tone was hard, and she saw tension pull his face taut.

_Great. Just frakkin' wonderful. First Kat and now this._

Struggling to keep her tone level, "You really think this the time for a heart to heart, Lee?" she demanded, feeling her own ire rise in response to his.

"No. You're right," his brows lowering "it's not. It just never is with you, huh?" Turning partially away, "I'll see you in three hours on the flight deck, Captain," he said, then strode off.

Glaring at his departing back, Kara closed her hands into to fists at her side, resisting the urge to charge after him. He wasn't being fair. Hadn't she been trying to let him in these past couple of weeks? She was doing her best here and that never seemed good enough.

_Frakkin' Lee. Always pushing. Gods, why won't he just leave it alone._

But then she asked herself if that was what she really wanted? For him to leave her alone? No, not really. It was just he was trying to coddle her again. It wasn't her fault he got so pissy. She just needed some time to deal with the frakked up dreams is all. And maybe a full course meal and a tall glass of ambrosia to chase it down, too.

Abruptly she realized that she was rubbing at the barely healed skin above her eyebrow again. Forcing her hand down, Kara took a deep breath and slowly released it. Like everyone else, Lee hadn't had anything to eat for the last threedays. He had every right to be as short tempered as the rest of them. Sometimes she forgot that just because he hid his feelings behind the CAG's mask, it didn't mean they weren't there.

Her gaze returned to the empty hallway and she considered going after him to apologize. With a shake of the head, Kara turned away instead. She really didn't want to try to explain to Lee about the strange dreams she'd been having. It was bad enough that they were dominated by ringed images, but the last one… How would he take it if she confessed that she'd started dreaming of Leoben again, only this time that she was a fully aware participant? Aware and willing.

Stomach clenching with a nausea that had nothing to do with being empty, Kara pressed her palms to her eyes as if to push the flaring memory from her mind. In the dream, Leoben had entrapped her from behind while she'd been frantically trying to blot out the mandala on her apartment wall. In the heated encounter that followed, Leoben hadn't asked permission—and she hadn't said no.

She'd had enough discussions with Laura by this to point to understand some of it. The Cylon had never given her a choice. Not really. And she'd been in no condition to consent, even if she'd wanted to. Yet… What the hell was wrong with her? Because she'd _wanted_ Leoben in that moment—pressed up against the wet paint, she'd wanted him as desperately as she ever had Sam—or Lee.

Disgust flared to a roar and Kara struck out at the nearest bulkhead. At the last moment, she collapsed her arm, folding it so her fist barely grazed the metal and her forearm impacted horizontally instead. She stood leaning against the wall, gasping and fighting with the dark loathing that urged her down the path of self-punishment.

No!

This wasn't the way.

Hadn't the past weeks showed her that _that_ route only lead straight to a place she'd sworn she'd never go again?

Turning to lean with her back flat to the cold steel, Kara sought to slow her breathing and _think_ for a change. Maybe Lee was right. Maybe she should go talk to him. She immediately flinched away from the idea. Things might be good between them—more than good. The best it's ever been—but he'd never understand _this_. Hell, she didn't and it was her frakked-up dream!

Then Laura…or the Old Man?

_No!_

Slapping her hands back against the bulkhead she shoved upright.

_They're busy…and I've already taken too much of their time. Can handle it on my own._

But then another voice, sounding like her mom's, mocked her, _'Just like you did before? Did real good then, didn't you.' _

It was true. Kara knew she'd screwed up before just trying to push through like usual. Yet, what other options did she have? The memory of something Karl had said when he'd momentarily cornered her in the mess before her breakdown came back to her now. He'd tried to get her to talk with him, but at her intransigence, he'd suggested she visit Dogsville. Something about an oracle that had setup a tent in the refugee camp in one of Galactica's holds.

Scrubbing damp palms along the coarse material of her pants, Kara decided that it was worth checking out. What's the worst that could happen?

* * *

Comments and concrit always appreciated!


	100. Chp 100  Past, Present & Future

Chapter 2 Past, Present & Future

"Sasha?"

The name took a moment to register as Kat moved against the tide of civies funneling down Galactica's hallway. Then the voice touched a cascading wave of familiarity. It was his voice. Only he said her name quite that way, a caress and taunt within two syllables. Her step faltered as long buried memories dug their way free.

"Sasha?" a lanky teenager had asked six years ago, and she had looked up from the book she'd been trying to study. Casting a wary gaze over the guy asking, taking in his insolent expression and way he leaned with hip hitched up on one of the arcade games and arms crossed, she'd lifted her lip into the beginnings of a sneer. Though she'd seen him around lately, she didn't know him—and figured she didn't want to. If trouble wasn't actually tattooed on his forehead, it was still clearly visible to her.

"My name isn't Sasha." she'd lied then, lowering her eyes back to the textbook.

Now, turning to face the older version, she echoed the words from her past, "My name isn't _Sasha_." Her eyes flitted to the passing crowd, then back to the brown ones in front as she moved in close. "My name's Captain Louanne Katraine. You _understand_ me… Sasha and you were a lifetime ago."

He studied her for a moment before giving a small flip of his head, tossing strands of dark hair aside. His lips thinned as he gave her uniform a desultory once over.

"Right… Right. So you got this now, right." He flicked her Viper emblem and she shift away. "No hangin' with the sinners now, huh," he taunted, a bitter undercurrent to his words.

Kat leaned in, adding emphasis as she warned, "Just stay away from me. Do you understand me." She paused for a beat before turning to walk away.

Her steps faltered to a halt as Enzo asked, "Do they even know who you really are?"

_Who you really are?_

The question froze her body in place…and sent her mind stumbling back to life in the poorer section of one of Caprica's major cities.

For the first nine years of her life, Sasha had shared a one bedroom unit with her mom and little sister, Betta. The day a security unit came to the door and took Betta and her into protective custody was the first time she'd learned that her mom had been involved with a group of 'less reputable' sorts—and had died as a result.

The child welfare system they'd been consigned to was a sick joke. She was separated from Betta first thing, each assigned to a different foster home. Sasha had tried for the next four years to find her sister: pleading with the case workers, running away repeatedly, and generally making a enough trouble to get herself bounced from one home to another, somehow thinking that she might find Betta at the _next_ one. By the age of thirteen she'd given up the idea that she'd ever have a family again.

Until she'd met Enzo.

Swiveling on her heels in Galactica's hallway, her eyes locked again on the man that she'd naively once believed she might make a future with. Maybe even start a family of their own one day. With jaw clamped tight, Kat covered the few yards and grabbed his elbow, yanking him toward a deserted side corridor.

"Come 'ere!" she hissed. Once she was sure they were alone, she spun to face him. "_What_ do you _want?"_ she demanded.

"Take it down a notch, baby. Relax." With his palms out, "I'm not looking for a business partner," he said, tone conciliatory now.

"I want you to stay the frak away from me," she ground out, struggling to keep the fear from leaking in.

"Yeah, cause if they find out who you really are, they kick you out of the service—or worse." A pause as he shift. "Now, you think I want that?" Kat twisted away, the thought of losing what she'd carved out for herself on the battlestar causing panic to knot her gut. His next words pulled her back around. "I don't want that. Cause if _that_ happens…whose gonna feed me?"

His knowing chuckle and smile recalled another time when Enzo had been sure he'd held the upper hand on her. The third time they'd met, he'd come offering her a chance she'd never dreamed of—the opportunity to learn to fly.

Sasha's teen years had been spent trudging through school and frequenting a local mall. Her last set of foster parents didn't seem to care where she was as long as she wasn't brought home by the security forces. They'd even gone so far as to give her a small allowance, a step up from any prior place she'd lived. She'd discovered the nearby arcade and had focused her time and meager cubits in the flight simulator games, learning to stretch her turns for longer and longer periods. And when she'd run out of money, she'd watch others play and learn from their mistakes and tricks.

She'd spent so many hours at the arcade that the old woman that owned the place at one point offered her a job. Mostly sweeping and dusting. She got paid in game credits—probably so the owner didn't have to report it—and that was fine by Sasha. Over the three years she'd hung out there, Ms Tansen had kind of taken her under her wing. She made Sasha start going to classes regularly, saying she wouldn't have an ignoramus working for her, even if it was only cleaning up. And it was Ms Tansen that explained that boys were after one thing only. So, when Enzo started loitering in the arcade and finally approached her, Sasha thought she knew where his interest lay.

She'd been wrong then.

"Oh, come on," the Enzo of now chided. "You're gettin' three squares, you don't think I know that." He lightly gripped her elbows, pulling her close.

Feeling the press of her past making it hard to breathe, she forced out, "We don't. And I don't have anything stashed so—"

"Yeah, sure you don't," he cut short her protest. Leaning in, forehead pressed to hers, he continued, "Come on, we go back, baby. Since when's it a crime to take care of your own?" His voice took on a suggestive emphasis with a hint of warning leavening it as he added, "Remember...I know who you are." His eyes half closed as he slid his hands up her arms. "And I make you happy."

No! She wasn't going to let him drag her back again. She'd left that shit behind. And him with it.

Enzo hadn't come sniffing around the sixteen-year-old Sasha looking to frak, not at first, at least. When he'd shown up for a third consecutive day, she'd finally decided to hear him out just to get him to leave her alone. His offer had taken her breath away. Literally stopped it. He had an ultralight rig, and he wanted _her_ to fly it. After the first few seconds of elation, she'd narrowed her gaze and demanded to know why. Why her? And what he'd be getting outta the deal?

It turned out that Enzo had a decent knack for fixing things. Explaining that he'd found and repaired a broken ultralight, but didn't know the first thing about flying it. Passing the arcade one day, he'd struck on the idea of getting a kid proficient in the simulator games to take it up for him. One guess whom he'd chosen. Of course, at nineteen, Enzo was out of school and looking for ways to make money. A contact he knew would pay well if he could move drugs from the mountainous sections of Caprica into the more tightly control cities. All he needed was a pilot and he was set.

Sasha was street smart enough to know that once she took a step into _that_ world, she'd have a helluva time ever shaking free again. She'd followed Enzo along to the deserted park out of curiosity over how it'd feel to really fly. After a few simple explanations on the fragile craft's workings, she'd managed to get it airborne—and soared for the first time.

Gods! It had been everything she'd ever dreamed. And then some_. _

Sasha had already committed herself before Ms Tansen had braced her the following day about taking off with an obvious punk like Enzo. The woman had been curt, but honestly concerned, when she'd warned Sasha to either stay away from the boy—or not bother coming back to the arcade. If the ultimatum had come the day before, Sasha would have heeded her words. But once she'd felt the rush of watching the ground disappear beneath her, there was no going back.

But Enzo was here now, threatening the pilot she'd become.

Yanking her arms free, "Get your hands off me," she bit out, then gave him a shove and rushed away from a past she'd thought had died along with the Colonies years ago.

[ I I I I I ]

Kara's headlong flight was halted by the press of people being ushered along Galactica's hall towards the area that had been setup for temporarily housing them during the jumps through the radiation field. As she stepped back from the crush to lean against a bulkhead, she tried to slow her pounding heart.

The visit to the oracle had been a fiasco.

A farce really.

The woman had rambled on worse than Leoben. She'd even sounded like the Two that had imprisoned her for months, quoting words that she shouldn't know, things that Kara had never shared with anyone.

Her head jerked as Kara suddenly wondered if the oracle was an embedded agent. It would explain her uncanny knowledge. And the identity of the final five Cylon models was still a mystery to the fleet...

She had to tell the Admiral.

Kara straightened, then paused. If she went to the Old Man, she'd have to explain what she'd been doing with the woman in the first place. Kara grimaced, hands shifting to her hips. She couldn't afford to let him know that she was being plagued by nightmares again. The fleet needed every qualified Raptor pilot it had on this mission, and if she confessed that she hadn't been sleeping… Well, he'd be sure to ground her immediately, regardless of the mission. She could hold it together—at least long enough to guide a bunch of civie ships for five jumps.

Indecision held her knees locked in place when her gaze was caught by a blue-uniformed figure that stood rigid amidst the flow of the refugee tide. Frowning, she watched as Kat confronted a tall stranger.

Frak. Last thing they needed was a dust-up between the petite pilot and some guy that was getting in her face. Kara had heard enough grumbling from those in Dogsville that thought the military were hoarding food to guess at what had spurred the clash. She was about to push her way forward when Kat abruptly turned and walked away.

With a thankful sigh at not having to break up a civilian/military dispute, Kara also turned…and so missed when Kat halted again.

Kara's alternate course ended at the hatch to her quarters. Pausing, she promised herself to fully brief the Admiral—and Lee—once the jumps were complete. The oracle wasn't a likely threat anyways.

_Well, probably not, _she thought, worrying her lip.

In fact, what proof did she even have to give against the woman? That some how she knew things she shouldn't? Wasn't that what made her an oracle in the first place? On the other hand, maybe she'd been a collaborator on New Caprica, certainly more likely an explanation than that she was a Cylon. What if Leoben had sought her out and shared what he'd said about Kara? She could definitely envision the Two wanting to explore what the oracle had to say, and preaching to her in kind.

For the umpteenth time, Kara caught herself rubbing at her scarred forehead. Forcing her hand down, she clenched it at her side as she replayed the oracle's words.

She'd said that Leoben sees the truth about Kara and her 'destiny'.

As if all of his ramblings about a fated role she was meant to fulfill wasn't just another of his mind-fraks, she scoffed to herself. But then, as the memory of the woman repeating Leoben's exact words again shortened her breath, Kara held her lip between her teeth and fought the rising fear. The oracle and Leoben both seemed to confirm that her mother had be right. That Kara Thrace was 'special' in some way and that the gods expected something from her.

Eyes closed, she tamped down the panic. Hadn't Laura tried often enough in the past weeks to show her that all her mom's rantings and abuse had been wrong? That she hadn't deserved the suffering she'd been subjected to?

"Frak 'em all," she muttered, eyes snapping open. She wasn't doing this again. Wasn't going to let some crazed woman draw her back into Leoben's machinations. She'd survived it once—barely—and was pretty certain that another plunge into his version of reality would likely drown her. No. Kara knew she hadn't been singled out by the gods as an envoy. They had far better choices to pick from.

Resolving to just lay the mess before the Admiral to sort out after the jumps, she yanked open the hatch and entered to find several other pilots already donning their flight suits.

With a little over an hour until their first foray into the radiation field, Kara shoved the quandary of the oracle, Leoben, and everything but the upcoming mission aside. She had a destiny, all right. And that was to see that the fleet's ships made it to the planet beyond—and no Cylon mind games were going to prevent her from doing it.

[ I I I I I ]

The radiation field was every bit the trip into Hades that Athena had warned them about.

As Starbuck squinted against the harsh brightness, searching for the civie ship she was partnered with, she thought she saw a swirl of color in the periphery of her vision. Craning her neck, she couldn't spot anything. But then the hard lines of the large vessel she was escorting came into view. Relief flooded her and she eased her Raptor closer, already relaying the next jump coordinates.

"Apollo, Starbuck. I got mine," she responded to his query. Then bit out, "Frak! I'm just barely holding on here," as she fought to keep the shuttle steady in the intense turbulence.

Distantly she heard HotDog's frantic calls, begging them to wait as he tried to locate his ship. At Apollo's mark, Kara triggered the FTL and the stunning light compressed back into the familiar black of space. Not quite empty space, though, for they were now positioned over a planet with a thin ring and dominant blue oceans that reminded her vaguely of Aquarius.

She took a moment to shake her hands out before swinging back to the bulk of Galactica. One trip down, four more to go.


	101. Chapter 101 Three Down

Chapter 81 Three Down

_Three __trips down—and damn it all—Lee was right about the nausea!_

As Kara reeled away from the decontamination area, she fought to keep the rising bile from spewing forth. She refused to lose it here in front of the whole deck gang! Leaning with her head tilted back against the walls of the hanger bay, she waited for her rebellious stomach to settle, only to find that the usually comforting vibrations of Galactica's engines just increased her wooziness.

"Damn Lee," she muttered and felt just a little bit better even though she knew it wasn't fair to blame him. The corners of her mouth twitched as her thoughts turned self-mocking. Some how it had to be Lee's fault for her succumbing to the predicted queasiness, right? And, here usually when he made a girl's stomach quiver, it was over his nicely cut form. Mentally dwelling on the image she'd glimpsed of him in the showers just this morning, the nausea receded slightly and she pushed away from the support of the wall.

She braced her legs as a wave of weakness made the decking feel as if it were sand shifting beneath her boots. Three slow breaths and the sensation passed.

_So frakkin' tired__…and I'm startin' to see thing. _

Kara squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing at them with a forefinger and thumb as she recalled the way something kept pulling at the edge of her vision on each of the runs. Considering how difficult it was to make out _anything_ within the heaving confluence that was the radiation field, she shouldn't be surprised, but it was distracting as hell. Were the others experiencing the same thing, she dully wondered?

_P__eople see mirages in the desert, right? Tricks of the light?_

Blinking against a building headache, Kara hoped the answer was that simple. Yet…she had this foreboding that she couldn't quite shrug off. The oracle's prediction that Leoben was again coming for her echoed silently off the walls and ramped up the feeling of unease she'd been experiencing since their first jump to the algae planet.

Swallowing hard, as much to control the apprehension as her unhappy stomach, Kara watched as Chopper stumbled out next from the decon section. The man immediately squatted with his head between his knees, gasping as he ran a hand over his bald head, sending beads of sweat trailing down his neck. He looked nearly as wiped as the days they'd spent jumping every thirty-three minutes. And it didn't take a mirror for Kara to know she probably appeared as ragged. Glancing around, she saw that most of the other pilots were also showing the early signs of radiation exposure.

And they still had two runs yet to make.

Kara rolled her wrist over to get a inspect her rad badge. The decon team was checking everyone's as they were processed, but she'd been too distracted with the trying not to vomit to look at hers before. Completely black meant that the wearer had reached her allowed exposure limit. And if it turned red… Well, Cottle had come down to the flight deck before the first launch to give everyone an anti-radiation injection and a scathing lecture on what it meant if _that_ happened. Hers was about halfway shaded. Should be good for the remaining two jumps, she decided.

After telling her stomach to shut up and stop tossing, Kara headed over to give Chopper a hand up. A bolstering cuff to his heavily-tattooed arm earned her a wane grin in response. Looking past him, Kara saw Lee helping support Racetrack where she was bent over, heaving what little her stomach could find to eject.

Watching him, Kara propped her hands on her hips, arms feeling too heavy to hang unsupported at her side any longer. Recalling what Lee had said about pilot discretion, she knew she'd have no choice before the next run; she was going to have to buckle under and take the stims—and she wasn't any more enthralled with the idea than Kat had been. And, regardless of what the Doc insisted, they always gave her the jitters.

When her gaze swept the hanger bay again, she saw that everyone was finally out of decon and in various states of collapse as Galactica began the process to dispatch her current passengers off to their waiting ships. In a couple of hours it would be time to make the return jump to load up the next set of civilians and repeat the whole thing.

Drawing on a reserve of energy from she didn't know where, Kara snagged some bottles from a passing medic and slowly made her own rounds among her fellow pilots. Like Lee, she insisted each hydrate and even offered a bawdry comment in encouragement.

It hurt.

It hurt knowing that some of the people she was speaking with might not be here a month from now. Hell, maybe not even tomorrow, she corrected herself. Anything could happen at any moment. Hadn't that stupid drone accident early on proved that? And Kara knew they'd gotten lucky in finding a source of food…and a way to it. So far they've always seemed to find whatever they needed in just the nick of time. But how long could that luck hold?

Laura was sure they were on the path to Earth. The question at this point wasn't if they'd ever find it, but if there'd be enough Colonials left to have been worth the effort in the first place?

Jouster's sly grin abruptly blurred before her mind's eye and Kara bit her lip, remembering again the sharp lance of pain on hearing Apollo call out the pilot's death. He might have been their most recent casualty when his Viper collided with a Cylon Raider in their last fight, but he certainly wouldn't be their last.

She was so tired of losing people. Tired of feeling helpless as her friends where winnowed away by one thing or another. Duck and Nora's loss on New Caprica came to mind and Kara huffed a breath at the renewed sense of grief.

Too many deaths.

With no end in sight.

Kara swiveled away from her scattered fellow pilots and stalked to the Raptor she'd been assigned. Climbing into the shuttle's interior, she decided to do what she could…as little as that might be.

[ I I I I I ]

Kat looked up and saw the familiar figure watching her from the flight deck catwalk.

"_Bastard,"_ she muttered, tearing off the neck and wrist cuffs and tossing them beside her Raptor, ready for the fourth trip.

Anger gave her the energy to clamber up the ladder and shove Enzo back along the walkway towards the hatch. Though he didn't resist, Kat couldn't help giving him another push to hurry him along. When he paused at the closed door she slid ahead, but whipped around as he tried to explain.

"Just checkin' out the ship."

"It's off limits, frakker. You wanna get brigged?" she hissed.

"Chill, Sasha, I—"

"_Don't_ call me that!" she bit out.

After giving him a fierce look, she spun, pushing through the hatch with Enzo right behind. He sensibly remained quiet as she escorted him back to the area set aside for the civilian passengers. But once there, Enzo was the one to seize Kat's arm and shift them into a small alcove.

"You don't want me roaming? Then get me something to eat," he said. As Kat tried to shift by him, Enzo blocked her path. "Not this time. No taking off without me."

Kat knew he was alluding to her leaving their tiny apartment three days before the Cylon attack, taking off after catching him banging one of the girls that hung around hoping for free samples. It wasn't the first time he'd cheated on her; though she'd sworn that it was the last. Circumstances had favored her the following few days, first providing her with an opportunity to assume a dead woman's identity—and then to be on a system-to-system transport at the exact time that the Cylons launched their invasion.

Enzo must have had similar luck. What were the odds that he'd not only survived the destruction of the Colonies, but all that had happened since to finally end up on Galactica? But, then again, Enzo always had had a knack of making things go his way. She suspected that he was already planning beyond his present goal of a steady diet.

When he said, "I've been thinkin' bout us," her concern seemed justified. Though he moved closer, he didn't try to touch her this time. "We made a good team before. And I'm thinkin' that Galactica would suit me just fine as a new base of operations. It's a battlestar, right? Central Command for my procurement ops," he chuckled, obviously pleased at his turn of phrase.

Kat knew where he was going with this and wanted nothing to do with it. As she tried to pass again, his arms came forward, hands braced against the wall on each side, boxing her in.

"We're not done." He leaned in. "You, my little cat," he smirked as her head jerked up, "ya, I know your…callsign? That's it, isn't it? Cat? It's what all your bigshot military friends call you, right?"

"Look, Enzo, I don't—"

"No, you don't. I do. I say what you do now." He pressed forward, pinning her to the wall and dropping his head to the side of hers. "You follow my orders now or I find the nearest guy in uniform. Come on, you're use to taking orders. Just think of me as your new Sarge. No… Maybe Captain. Definitely Captain sounds better." He nuzzled her hair, then said, "You can call me Captain Enzo."

She felt sickened, not sure how she ever thought that she loved this guy.

Jabbing her fingers upward, she speared him in both armpits, driving him away.

"Back off!"

"Frakkin' hey!" he swore, hands tucked under his arms massaging the pressure points she'd hit. "Stop being such a bitch."

"I'm not your cat or bitch or whatever. Got it."

"No. You're the one not _getting_ it. You got one choice here, Sasha. My way or see exactly what they do with imposters. I remember you didn't enjoy those three days in juvie hall. And remember who got you out? I always had your back. Remember that?" Kat had stepped past him, intent on bolting, but froze at his words.

A shudder rode down her back. Sasha had spent less than seventy-two hours in the lockup facility for minors on Caprica. But the experience had convinced her she'd never let it happen again. Having no escape from guards that viewed the teenagers as personal toys had been an education. She hadn't actually been assaulted herself, but had lain awake each of her two nights there, hearing the sounds coming from other cells in her section. It had only been a matter of time before her turn, she had figured.

And Enzo was right. She owed him for getting her turned loose. He'd bribed someone, and hadn't let her forget in the following weeks what her getting caught had cost them.

Didn't she still owe him? And if she wanted to avoid a one-way trip to the Astral Queen, did she even have a choice?

As the compression of Galactica's FTL jump struck her, the fatigue and queasiness pressed in again. In a few hours from now she'd have to climb back in the Raptor and face the storm of the radiation field. She just didn't have the energy to deal with Enzo right now.

Shoulders slumping, Kat turned back to face him.

"I can't talk now. After… After we get the jumps done. Get some food. We can talk then, ok?"

His dark head tilted. "You really don't have any, do you?"

"That's what I've been telling you, frakker," she said, too weary for any proper heat in her words.

"Fine. Later." He pointed at her then. "But don't think I'm just gonna go away. I found me a spot in that Dogsville place. So, I'll be here after you shuttle off all the others," he warned, then slid his hands into his pockets and strolled casually way.

Kat watched him disappear around a corner and then hugged herself. She knew she'd have to face the dilemma he presented, but it looked like she had a reprieve…at least for now.

Heading back to the hanger bay, Kat reminded herself that regardless of what happened afterwards, right now she was a Colonial Captain and one of the top Viper pilots the fleet had left.

It was enough to keep her moving forward.


	102. Chapter 102 Painted Corners

Chapter 102 Painted Corners

Kara watched through the cockpit as Kat gave the stranger on the catwalk another shove. She'd thought at first that the younger woman was just directing a wandering passenger back toward the holding area, but there was something definitely personal in the way she pushed the man along before her. She could see Kat's glare from here. Yup, she knew the guy. And, from the looks of things, wasn't any too happy to see him now.

Usually Kara didn't care who was frakking whom on the battlestar. This felt different, though. Less like Kat was mad at her boy toy who was down in a restricted area, and more like she'd gladly boot him out the nearest airlock. Add in the fact that Kara hadn't even heard the merest whisper that Kat had anyone special onboard, and her curiosity was fully roused. Besides, she was still irritated at the attitude the junior pilot had thrown her way during the briefing. She had assumed that they'd moved past the pissing contest. Wasn't that the reason for Kat's visit to her in sickbay?

Deciding to do a little investigating since they had hours yet before the fourth trip through, Kara rose and started to maneuver toward the rear of the Raptor, only jerk to a halt as she saw Lee duck inside.

"Lee," she said, startled and a little flustered.

"Last time I checked." A grin lifting some of the strain from his mouth.

"Smart-ass."

"Thought that was you."

"Yeah, but then you've obviously been hangin' out too much with me."

"Never," he fervently replied. And with that, the levity between them fell away, and a different kind of tension filled the void as Lee stepped in close to murmur, "I like hanging with you."

"Lee, I—"

He blocked her half-formed comeback with his lips, claiming her mouth and pulling her in to him. Kara reflexively stiffened, then relaxed against his chest and gave his questing tongue access, distantly marveling at how _right_ it felt as his arms hugged her even closer.

Her hands impatiently pulled at his tanks where they were tucked into the folded down top of his flightsuit, working until she could slide her palms up the warm skin of his back. Hers weren't the only ones busy as Lee managed to tug the clinging suit from her shoulders, forcing the material down until Kara had to release her hold long enough to pull her arms free from the sleeves. There was a desperate hunger in Lee's kiss now. A matching need drove Kara as her arms rose and hands entangled themselves in his hair.

_Gods, he feels so good..._

With fingers running through his hair, Kara buried all thought and let the sensations shove everything else aside. She shivered as his palms ghosted up between them along her ribs. Then the cloth of her bra was pushed up and thumbs brushed both nipples causing a shudder that arched her head back. Now his lips trailed heat along her jawline, pausing to suck at the rapid pulse in her neck, and Kara moaned as a fever flashed through her.

Reality abruptly compressed around them as Galactica initiated the first of two FTL jumps for the return trip.

The instant of disorientation froze Kara in place, triggering memories as her confused senses registered the smell of wet paint and the feel of slickness on her skin. Passion fought with panic as she opened her eyes. White enveloped her. She was painted in white. Then _his_ pale eyes were pinning her against the wall even as his hands locked about her wrists.

"You can't erase your destiny," Leoben murmured as he pressed her against the smeared wall of her denial. "Don't fight it."

With a gasp, Kara struck outward, both palms thrusting hard and driving him away. Fear and loathing were intermingled with arousal, leaving her reeling, hands raised defensively.

As the second jump constrict her perceptions once more, things again shifted about her and she stumbled back into something solid.

"..ra? Kara!" a hoarse voice called to her. "What the—" The voice broke off, then gentled. "Easy, Kara. It's me. It's Lee. You're safe. You're here on Galactica and you're safe."

As his words penetrated the chaos of images, Kara tried to concentrate on the familiar voice. The Raptor's interior coalesced around her. Choking on rapid gulps of air, she realized that she was pressed against the partition backing the pilot's seat.

"Kara?"

Blinking, she fought to separate the impression of two forms before her. With a painful snap, Lee's worried face shifted into focus, and she saw relief smooth some of the lines from the corners of his eyes as hers met his with recognition.

"Kara," Lee called again from a few feet away.

She shifted her gaze, anxiously searching for the Cylon.

There was no one else in the small shuttle.

There never had been.

Another flashback. She shook her head then. No. It was more than that, one of her frakking nightmares had merged into the present. Kara put her hands to her head, eyes closed tight as she worked through the confusion and conflicting emotions.

"Hey, what happened?" Too close. He was too close now.

Opening her eyes again, she held a palm out in warning to Lee. He'd stepped forward, his own hands raised hesitantly as if to encircle her but unsure whether to do so was safe.

"Nothing," she managed through clenched teeth. Now it was his turn to jerk back as if struck; the blatant lie as hard a blow as any she'd thrown before. "Lee, I…" she tried as the pain at her rejection carved new furrows above his brow and scraped sharply against her own soul in response. But what could she say? That the flashbacks were back? Not that she'd managed to shake them completely before, but was she suppose to tell him that now she was hallucinating about making love to the motherfrakker that had tormented her for months? Yeah, like she dared to tell Lee _that_.

"You're not going to talk to me, are you," he said, his words a hollowed statement as his arms fell to his side in defeat.

Kara opened her mouth, desperate to find something, anything, to bridge the chasm that was expanding between them. But her words were held shackled in her heart. There was nothing she could say that would explain—excuse—her frakked-up head. At her continued silence, Lee seemed to fold into himself and he turned away. Her hand rose of its own accord, reaching for him. As the constriction about her throat loosened, Kara's lips parted to call his name. But he twisted back around before the first whisper of sound, and his locked-down expression throttled her words again.

"Captain Thrace, you're grounded until further notice," he firmly said, all CAG now as he fell back on military protocol.

As the initial jolt of the shift in topic passed, "Lee, you can't. You need me," she protested.

"I do," his declaration a bare whisper as his professional masked slipped for an instance. He swallowed and Major Adama was forcefully back in place. "What I _need_ are pilots that I can trust to do their job." As she flinched at his sharp words, "I can't trust you, Kara," tone softening further, "I don't dare."

He was right, of course, she thought. _She_ wouldn't trust someone that had just flaked out like this, how could Lee?

"On the fifth trip, we've three more birds than civilian ships. I'll bump one from the fourth run and we'll still have a spare slot." She nodded numbly at his explanation and folded her arms about her ribs to fend off the chill of her failure. Unable to bear the disappointment she was sure she saw in his eyes, Kara ducked her head.

Fingers under her chin forced her gaze to meet his as Lee hesitantly said, "Look…you get some rest. See Doc Cottle. Talk to Laura or…whatever. Just get your head back in it and I'll reinstate you." At her doubtful look, he nodded.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Gods, Kara, don't," he said hoarsely. "This was my fault. I shouldn't have…" he trailed off on a sharp inhale and quickly turned to duck out the Raptor's hatch before she could form any coherent words to stop him. By the time her body unclenched enough to follow, she saw him hurrying through the nearest exit.

Staring across the hanger to where Lee had disappeared, Kara tightened her arms about herself, trying to keep the feeling that she was about to shatter from overwhelming her again. How'd she get back here at the bottom of a pit with the sides threatening to collapse in on her again? Had all the effort of the past month meant nothing?

Concentrating, she loosened her jaw and focused on breathing like Cottle had shown her. The feeling of being smothered eased. On shaking legs, she moved from the shuttle and along the wing, but the tension had been the only thing holding back the exhaustion and as she descended down the inset step, she stumbled, falling heavily to her hands and knees.

"…_frak, frak, frak,"_ she chanted through gritted teeth, riding out the wave of pain from the hard impact.

"Captain?"

She blinked against the moisture in her eyes and saw a pair of small boots in her line of vision. Between the orange of the jumpsuit and the feminine voice, Kara didn't have to look up to know that it was Cally at her side. "Frak!" she muttered one more time for good measure before lifting her head.

"Are you hurt, Sir? Should I get a medic?"

"No, don't bother," she said, then pushed to her feet and the gingerly rubbed at bruised kneecaps. Banged up but intact, she concluded. Straightening, "I'm fine," she assured the worried-looking deckhand.

"Excuse me, Sir, but you've said that before," admonished Cally with her hands on hips now. Kara gapped at the smaller woman, startled that the usually demure Specialist should call her out like this.

"Right," she said, uncomfortably reminded at how much Cally probably knew. She had been witness to many of the incidences on the flight deck over the past couple of months, and who knew what the Chief had shared with his wife. "Right," she repeated. "Just frakkin' tired…and starving, so…" she trailed off with a shrug.

"We all are."

As fear and worry tightened Cally's features, Kara guessed that she was thinking about her kid. Abruptly Kacey's bright face, cheek smudged by green paint as Kara had last seen her, came to mind. The fleet's children. All probably crying from hunger. She knew that the Admiral and President had made plans to see that the children got first dibs on the algae as it was processed, so they'd all be ok. After all, a couple of days without food wouldn't cause any lasting harm. Didn't she know this from experience, having survived several times when her mom had punished her by withholding food?

So, yeah, the kids would be fine.

This time.

Again Kara was forced to the realization of how precarious their future was, this latest crisis a painful reminder of how close to the edge the remnants of humanity trod each day.

How long could they go on this way? What alternative really was there?

The vote to settle New Caprica only emphasized how tired of running the people were. And yet, the disaster they'd made at colonizing that dirt clod of a planet—even before the Cylons' return—showed how ill equipped the Colonials were for starting over.

They needed to find the Thirteenth Tribe.

And they needed to do it soon.

Pulling her thoughts back to the present, Kara gave the younger woman a thin smile, hoping to forestall any further probing. She wasn't prepared to deal with a suddenly assertive Cally.

"It's gonna take a few hours to bring on the next load of civies, so I'm hitting my rack for awhile if anyone needs me," she said.

"Good idea, Sir."

"Thanks for the permission, Specialist," she sardonically replied, then felt vaguely guilty as Cally's cheeks flushed. Kara gave a mental grunt of frustration. She didn't have the energy to play nice and if Cally couldn't deal with the sharp side of her tongue then she should've minded her own frakking business.

Twisting away, Kara held steady against the slight vertigo and strode from the deck.


	103. Chapter 103 Fueling Up

Chapter 103 Fueling Up

Jerked upright in bed by the memory of pain, Kara bit back a cry as she fought free of the nightmare. She flexed her fingers, seeking reassurance that they were whole and the pain was just an echo from her past. Well, most of it. There was always a low level ache that she never admitted to anyone, especially to any of her doctors. Her hands worked. They did their job well, so what else really mattered.

Kara cursed silently. She had hoped that in her exhausted state the dreams wouldn't come this time. Not her luck. If anything, it'd been worse, a violent mix of remembered moments from her childhood mingled with ones of Leoben insisting that her destiny was coming for her and she had to be prepared to make the leap of faith it demanded. One good thing. The erotic portion of her dreams had been thankfully missing this time; Leoben's shade seeming intent on focusing on his streams and how they were now swirling into the circling currents of a whirlpool.

Shoving her curtain aside, she stood and looked at the wall clock. Almost three hours since she'd collapsed across her bunk, not even bothering to shed her flightsuit first or pausing long enough to remove her boots. It hadn't been nearly long enough, but she did feel some of the cloying pull of fatigue clear as she ran a hand through her short hair.

Just as she decided that it should be about time for the fourth trip through the radiation storm, Dee's voice came through the speaker, warning the crew to prepare for FTL. Kara gripped the ladder to the upper rack as the usual moment of disorientation tilted her balance. Apprehension whitened her knuckles as she waited to see if another flashback pounced. Counting off the seconds, her thoughts shifted to her fellow pilots as she visualized them trying to steady their Raptors long enough to locate their individual ships. The memory of the painful brightness of the radiation storm had Kara reflexively closing her eyes.

The second FTL jump signaled the completion of the run.

With a frustrated huff, Kara released her breath, unsure how long she'd even held it. The entire thing had only taken a few minutes, but it had felt like an hour as her mother's voice once again reminded her that she should have been out there, not taking a frakking nap while others did her job.

The voice was right.

But so was Lee.

He couldn't afford to trust a pilot that was losing her shit over a little kiss.

It dawned on Kara then that she hadn't had flashback. The FTL jumps hadn't triggered it this time. Maybe that wasn't what had caused it before? It hardly mattered why. The problem was what _was_ she going to do about them? And the nightmares? It seemed like she was sliding back into the same pattern she'd just pulled herself free from such a short time ago.

Reluctantly accepting that she'd have to seek some type of help, Kara resolved to speak with Sharon once things had settled back down. In the meantime, she knew she needed to be able to sleep, really sleep, not just these interrupted snatches. Then, maybe she could get a handle again on the mess going on inside her head.

One thing she knew.

She was going to have to go to Cottle.

_Frak it all. The bastard better not give me a bad time._

Knowing she didn't have a choice, she headed off to sickbay, knowing she'd have to tell the doctor at least part of the truth if she expected to get anything from him.

Life Stations was surprisingly busy as Kara entered and she debated turning around and coming back later. Before she could retreat, the white-haired surgeon was coming toward her with his normal scowl firmly in place.

"Expected to have to drag _you_ in," he said, "Maybe you're not as much a fool as I've always thought." Kara blinked at him in confusion, not at his manner since he was just being his usual charming self, but at his words, liked he'd been expecting her? "Come along then," he gruffed, waving her toward a row of chairs arranged along one wall with an IV stand beside each. She followed, still uncertain, but sat where he brusquely pointed.

"I just need some pills—" she started to explain.

"Yeah, yeah. Everyone's getting fluids first," he interrupted. "You just stay here and Ishay'll get you hooked up." And before she could say anything further, he tramped off.

_What the hell? _

As she started to stand, the doctor's assistant was abruptly at her side.

"Oh no you don't, Captain. Just sit back and you'll be done in about twenty minutes," Ishay firmly directed, her tone carrying a warning that she wasn't in a mood to put up with any arguments. Settling resignedly back, Kara grudgingly held her arm out as indicated and looked away as the needle was inserted at the crook of her elbow.

"There," stretching a piece of tape to secure the line along Kara's forearm, "The fluids will help with dehydration and give the stims something to work off," she said. Kara watched as the woman fiddled with the bag to get the flow to her satisfaction, then something she'd just said finally registered.

"Stims?" she asked, unsure she'd even heard Ishay correctly the first time.

"Doctor Cottle won't give you any until you're done here, so don't bother trying to get out of this," Ishay said with a shake of the head.

"I don't need—"

"You pilots don't know what you need," she cut off Kara's protest again. "If you're going to be flying with stims, your body needs the boost of a dextrose drip. And with the nausea, you've not been drinking enough water, have you." The nurse quickly pinched the skin on the back of Kara's hand. "See. You're dehydrated. So, just let us do our job then you can go do yours, Captain."

She frowned as the assistant spun and moved away before she could protest further. Obviously no one had told the medical staff that she'd been grounded again. Stims and fluids? Cottle must be really worried if he was willing to use more of their limited resources.

_Just great,_ she groused to herself, further frustrated by the knowledge that since she wasn't flying, those precious resources were being wasted.

Kara was about to remove the IV when a commotion at the entrance drew her attention. A gurney was being pushed in by one medic as another helped a stumbling Narcho along just behind. As the prone figured groggily tried to sit up, Kara recognized Showboat. Both of her fellow pilots looked like hell.

As Showboat was wheeled, still weakly protesting, into an examination cubicle, Narcho and his human crutch staggered toward the row of chairs.

"Wait here, Sir," the medic ordered as he eased the sagging pilot into the seat beside Kara.

"What happened," she demanded as the ex-Pegasus pilot grimaced an acknowledgment at the corpsman's unneeded order.

"Marcia was trying to land when I guess the nausea got too much for her. Barely got her bird down before spewing in her helmet. They had to carry her out," he explained. Then Narcho's already washed-out features suddenly paled further and he quickly leaned to the other side of his seat, dry heaves shaking his shoulders as he gagged.

Kara looked away, as much to give him some privacy as to still her own too ready nausea. Showboat was obviously out for the remaining trip. From the continued sounds of choking at her side, Narcho was pretty iffy, too. Mentally counting ships, Kara realized that they still had enough pilots to guide the final batch—if Narcho could fly.

If not…

Well, if not, then Lee would have to return her flight status. At least for the last jump. She still felt like crap…but better. The few hours in her rack and maybe—she grudgingly admitted—the fluids she was getting, seemed to be restoring some of her energy. Deciding to take the stims when offered, Kara leaned back into her seat to wait.

A few minutes later, Ishay came over and inserted something into the flowing line. As she capped the needle she must have noticed Kara's questioning look.

"For the nausea. Settle your stomach," she said by way of explanation.

"Could've used that hours ago," Kara said, more sharply then she'd intended.

As Ishay's gaze shifted to the curtained enclosure where Showboat had been taken, Kara understood. The assistant gave an uncomfortable shrug as she turned to Narcho's IV.

"The drug's on the ration list," Ishay said while tapping excess air from the syringe. "The pharmacy lab on the Zeppelin's a makeshift affair. They're doing what they can, but they're concentrating on high priority things like antibiotics. Medication for nausea's pretty far down on the list." Putting both now empty, but still precious syringes into her pocket, the assistant's eyes again flickered across the expanse of sickbay. "After Captain Case's…mishap, Doctor Cottle's decided that this constituted an emergency and ordered you all to receive a dose. You should be feeling the effects shortly." With that, she hurried toward the entrance as Racetrack shuffled in.

Over the next half hour the other pilots continued to trickle in and be summarily hooked up to the waiting IVs.

Kara smirked as HotDog gave an indignant yelp when Ishay slide the needle home.

"Sorry, Sir. We're reusing needles, so they're probably a little dull," the woman explained as she finished securing the line in place.

"Hope you cleaned 'em first," he grumbled.

"All except yours, Lieutenant," Ishay replied, then turned away from HotDog's affronted look. Her eyes met Kara's and they shared a moment of amusement before a shadow crossed the woman's expression.

Kara turned her head and saw Cottle coming towards her, a deeper scowl now crevicing his face.

_Uh-oh, _she groaned to herself. It looked like he must have found out about her rescinded flight status. _Shit!_ She suddenly just knew that he was going to tear her a new one right there in front of the others. Bracing for the expected berating, Kara took a breath to defend herself.

But her words were stoppered as Cottle said, "Here's your stims. They'll see you through the next ten hours. Just take the frakking things and do your job. We all have to."

She closed her mouth, bit her tongue on her prepared argument and mutely accepted the two pills he held out. With a brusque nod, he glanced at his assistant and something passed between the pair. Kara tried to decipher the look but Ishay abruptly shifted to face her and Cottle moved on, dispensing pills to each of the pilots where they sat attached to their IVs.

Pulling her perplexed gaze from the doctor's stiff back, she looked up to see Ishay regarding her with a pained bleakness in her expression.

"What the hell was that?" Kara quietly demanded.

Ishay looked away, her features tightening further before disappearing behind the professional mask she usually wore. Kara thought she wasn't going to answer, but then heard her low reply.

"Sometimes military needs outrank his medical oath."

Then Ishay was striding away, too, leaving Kara to wonder what she'd meant by _that? _

A short time later, a female medic removed Kara's IV, leaving a cottonball and strip of tape in its place.

"You can go now," she was informed and stood, gaze sweeping the line of men and women still sprawled in various states of exhaustion. A few notable people were missing. Kat hadn't come in yet…and neither had Lee.

The thought of a confrontation with him surrounded by her fellow pilots was enough to hurry her step towards the exit. If she had hopes of going out on the last trip, she needed to face him, but not here.

Making her way along Galactica's corridors, Kara worked through a mental time table. It'd take probably a good three hours to off-load the prior group of civilians, then a quick double-jump back through the storm and another three or so hours to bring on board the final lot of passengers. She'd have to find Lee well before they finished so she could present her case, but she also wanted to give him time to visit sickbay; Cottle certainly wouldn't let the CAG sidestep the order for fluids and stims any more than he'd let her.

So, what could she do in the intervening time to distract herself?

She probably should have held off taking the stims until closer to launch. Sure, she'd still be plenty wired by then, but with hours between and the pills burning through her blood, the false energy had her edgy and frustrated. There was no use even considering laying down to rest, and she felt reluctant to go back to her Raptor after the recent flashback.

At the junction ahead, Kara saw a line of people clad in assorted garments shuffling by; the civilians being herded back to the flight deck to return to their ships. It brought to mind the little scene she'd witnessed in the hanger earlier between Kat and the stranger. Something in their manner had spoken of an intimacy she couldn't recall ever seeing before in Kat. Not even with HotDog, and she knew that _those_ two had been true bunkmates in the past.

Usually Kara couldn't give a snipe's tits who was doing whom, but…

Turning to follow the column of refugees, she went in search of Kat's secret.

[ I I I I I ]

An hour later and Kara almost wished she hadn't found the stranger.

Enzo. Drug dealer, black market trafficker and—she could tell even from just the single confrontation she'd just had with him—grade-A asshole. He was the sort of guy Socrata had warned her about. The sort she'd dallied with a few times in high school just to piss her mom off. It hadn't take Kara long, though, to realize that in this her mother had been right. Guys like Enzo would lead to more trouble then even she was willing to court, especially since at that time Kara had just been accepted onto the school Pyramid team and didn't want to risk her position.

Best bit of fortune to have happened to her in a long time.

From all appearances, Katraine hadn't had the same luck.

Or hadn't made the same choices.

On Galactica, Kara had finally found her quarry chatting up a pretty girl in Dogsville. She had thought first to check amongst the departing passengers, but trying to search the milling crowd had quickly stretched nerves already zinging from the stimulant. On a hunch she'd gone to the hold set aside for Galactica's permanent refugee camp. Once she'd spotted her objective, she had asked around about him before cornering Enzo in a hallway.

It hadn't taken long to confirm the rumors she'd sussed out.

Tricking him into the nearest airlock had been simple too, though it hadn't had the immediate effect of loosening his tongue as she'd planned. Hepped up as she was, Kara had been tempted to go ahead and just flush the piece of trash out the lock and have done with it. Enzo must have read something of that in her expression because he had started talking then, offering to trade information if she'd just let him go. It had still taken some time. And she _had_ gone so far as to engage the emergency door override; the resulting warning lights and sounds had shaken the last of his renitence. Even then his answers were muttered in reluctant sentences that were half-truths buried beneath excuses and bullshit. Kara began to think he was incapable of a straight answer. Not that it mattered, for he _had_ given up his purpose in remaining on Galactica…and his connection to Kat.

She'd certainly gleaned enough to understand who—or more correctly—_what_ he was. Kat was a different matter, though. At first Kara had been shocked when she'd come to understand that the younger woman had been involved in a long term relationship with this dirtbag. Surely she was smarter than that?

As her initial disbelief wore off, Kara had to admit that she really didn't know much about her one-time nugget.

Turns out, not even her given name.

Not Katraine at all.

_Sasha_.

Assuming even that was true.

Kara handed over the now quite cooperative Enzo to the first marine she spotted and gave orders to ensure that he departed with the last load of civilians. She then wheeled away from the pair and stalked off to find the pretender in Galactica's ranks.


	104. Chapter 104 Identity

Chapter 104 Identity

Partially hidden by a bracing strut, Kat watched the slow exit from the holding area of the last group of refugees. These people were truly refugees now because of her. She doubted any of them had considered the Carina their home, but they'd at least had a settled place, come to know the folks around them, formed bonds and a sort of community. That little bit of normal was gone now; the fragile sense of belonging to a group torn away as they were parsed out amongst the remaining ships and faced the likely resentment of being forced on an already overcrowded populace.

And it was her fault.

Her stomach again twisted and bile rose in her throat. Kat swallowed convulsively, replaying the moments in the radiation field. She remembered the brief glimpse she'd seen of her assigned transport ship just before her Raptor had been buffeted by the waves of the cosmic storm. Then it had been lost in the harsh light and shifting haze. If only she'd been quicker. Not so exhausted.

Maybe if she'd taken the stims…

The weight of her guilt threatened to collapse her shaking knees.

Grinding her teeth against the taste of failure, Kat forced her legs to hold and watched the stragglers finally trail out, then she stepped clear of her spot by the wall. She couldn't fix what had happened, and when the medics had seen that her badge was completely black they'd pulled her from the last jump, so there would be no opportunity for redemption either.

There was nothing for her in this empty hold.

As Kat hugged herself, she knew that she'd had worse moments since joining up: her crackup while on stims…and the guilt of letting her fellow pilots down afterwards, the messed up drills in preparation for the evacuation of New Caprica, and more recently…the realization that the past had caught up with her.

A small voice mocked her for pretending that she was all tore up over losing a ship when wasn't it the truth that she just couldn't stand to face the real issue? The dilemma Enzo presented still had her locked her at an impasse. There was no way she'd agree to go along with his plan to use her access to shuttles to run contraband throughout the fleet. Her smuggling days had been abandoned on the shattered worlds of the Twelve Colonies and she refused to reclaim _that_ life.

Sasha was as dead as everyone else they'd left behind.

Joining Galactica's crew, excelling as a Viper pilot, hacking out a place for herself within the great ship's framework of family, _this_ was who she was now. The betrayal Enzo presented wasn't even an option to Captain Louanne "Kat" Katraine. Yet, her whole identity was based on a lie…and she knew how the Old Man felt about being deceived.

Thinking about Adama's likely reaction to learning her secret was enough to push the nausea over the edge. Kat steadied herself against the wall as the heaving doubled her over. She swiped a hand across her mouth, grimacing at the aftertaste of acid.

With her recent failure and the press of impossible choices still dragging at her, she exited the hold with bent head, too sick of body and heart to do more than shuffle onward.

The brisk slap of boots approaching lifted her weary gaze.

Just great. Starbuck…and on a tear from the looks of her grim expression.

Kat tried to dredge up the energy to straighten as the keyed up tension of the blonde pilot registered. There was no way it was natural. Starbuck was wired up on stims and that could only mean that she was expecting to go out on the last jump. Everyone knew that the CAG had grounded Kara, and though they'd all been too tired to speculate the reason outloud, it hadn't taken much imagination to guess that she'd done something to convince Apollo that she was too unstable to trust for the remaining trips. Kat had mentally grumbled that it seemed Starbuck should have been able to handle a few Raptor jumps. It wasn't like they'd been fighting Cylons for the past twenty-four hours!

A part of her really resented this new, brittle, Starbuck.

It wasn't that Kat hadn't already seen Kara waver under pressure before; her excessive drinking while they were dealing with Scar had shown that she was as susceptible as anyone else. But her breakdown after New Caprica had been on an entirely different level. And _that_ was what scared Kat. There were so few of them left. What would happen if—when—those in key positions cracked? Kat wasn't a fool. She knew how precariously the whole fleet was balanced and that there was no way to replace certain people. That fear stirred an unreasoning anger in her as Kara came to a halt before her.

"Had a good nap, Captain?" she taunted before Starbuck could say anything.

"Just fine. Thanks for asking…Kat." Starbuck's smirk took on a mean edge. "How bout you. Been catching up with any old friends lately?" Paling as the question sunk in, Kat's eyes darted down the empty corridor as Kara continued, "Say…maybe an old boyfriend?"

"Been kinda too busy for socializing," she hedged, still hoping that her fellow pilot didn't really know anything. Anxiously trying to deflect the direction of the conversation, "Some of us still have missions to fly," she snapped out.

Kara jerked back as if struck and Kat spun away, desperate to make an escape while she had Starbuck on the defensive.

"Hey Sasha."

She stopped. The name echoed along the metal hallway, mocking her attempt to become someone else. Someone of worth. She swayed back, unbalanced now that who she was—what she was—had finally caught up with her.

"Oh, what?" Kara mocked. "You always got something to say... Talk," the voice behind her ordered, low and hard now.

The air huffed out of Kat in short gusts as she deflated, sagging onto one of the crates lining the wall.

Her secret slid forth from chapped lips, "I took the name Louanne Katraine from a girl who died two days before the attack on Caprica. Got me through the background checks," she confessed, blinking slowly as she wet parched lips. As steps drew near, she held her line of sight rigidly forward, avoiding Kara's condemning gaze.

"Yeah, keep going." At this, she forced her eyes up.

"I was a drug runner. Enzo was my supplier." The censure in Kara's eyes was every bit that she had expected. She turned defensive. "What do you want. We were truckers, ok! We just moved stuff."

"People," more a statement than a question. "You see…some think that that's the way that the Cylons infiltrated Caprica," Kara paused and Kat stared, confused until she continued, "They seeded themselves throughout the outer colonies. Then they used criminals to get them into the Capital." With growing horror she listened. "Anyone who's found guilty of helping the Cylons is considered a traitor."

Shaking her head in denial, "We didn't carry Cylons," Kat said, the thought twisting her barely settled stomach.

"How do you know?"

"Because nobody knew they looked like us," she vehemently protested.

Voice raised, "Then how do you know you didn't?" Kara demanded, her face now within inches.

Kat sought some protest, some way of denying that she'd been responsible for assisting in the invasion of her home planet. She had no answer, and Starbuck's expression was merciless as she placed a hand to the wall beside Kat's head.

"How do you know?" Kara whispered. Her contention was more damning than any yelling she might have done.

"You think I'm a traitor?" she asked, searching the face before her for some semblance of understanding. She harshly demanded again, "You think I'm a _traitor?"_ There was a slight easing in the hard lines of Kara's expression.

"No. I don't think you're a traitor," she conceded. "You're a smart, young woman. That's what the Old Man said." Kat's gut clenched and tears stung the corner of her eyes as she was reminded that there was still another she had to answer to. She fought to hold herself together as Kara continued. "You're just not smart enough to accept who you are. You see, you lied your way into the company of good people."

A moan escaped her now as the last verbal blow shredded the thin veil that Kat had laid over her sense of self. Her lips quivered as the tatters parted and she was faced with the truth. Sasha was who she was. Whom she would always be. Sniffling back a building sob, her eyes implored Kara for forgiveness, and if not that, then at least forbearance.

"Starbuck, don't tell the Admiral," she pleaded. "Please. Please don't or I—" her voice cracked even as she was interrupted.

"Or what?" Kara scoffed.

Marshalling her remaining courage, "Starbuck, just let me tell him myself. Please just let me. Can you do that?" she begged, seeking some portion of pity from the relentless person before her. Kat watched conflicting emotions flicker across Kara's face as she considered the request. With a last grimace, Starbuck pulled back and strode away, leaving Kat unsure of what to make of her silence.

Her breath hitched into a sob and she buried her face in her hands and let the tears come.

[ I I I I I ]

As Kara walked away without a backwards glance at the crumbling figure, she felt the familiar voice mocking her for not dragging Kat's ass to the Admiral right then and there. The younger woman had lied. Been lying since she came on board.

And all this time she'd had the nerve to be calling _Kara_ out on _her_ behavior?

_Frakkin' hypocrite!_

Chemically-enhanced anger dueled with a slowly building shame as Kara yanked open the nearest hatch, thankful that it was an empty storage unit. Between the stimulant in her blood and her own emotion-charged adrenalin, she was finding it hard to think clearly, to decide what to do with her new knowledge. As she prowled the small room, Kara had the uncomfortable realization that a chunk of her agitation was due to how much she identified with the younger woman. Kat hadn't been the only hypocrite in the hallway just now.

Hadn't she herself felt a fraud from the moment she had joined the military? How often had she been told—then gone on to prove—that she wasn't up to her mother's standard, the academy's…the Adamas'?

Self-loathing surged past the barrier of her anger.

She had to go to the Admiral she reluctantly decided. Tell the Old Man about the truth of Kat's past, confess her own recent relapse into nightmares and flashbacks, let him judge them both because she couldn't. She didn't trust herself anymore.

Within ten minutes she was standing just outside CIC silently cursing the foolish decision to take the stims so far in advance of the last jump; her nerves were jittering like she had downed seven coffees in a row and here Kara had wanted to appear calm before the Admiral. It was going to be hard enough without coming across as some a hyper loony.

On a breath, she tried to steady her resolve and moved into the command center to catch the Old Man's attention by the Dradis console. One bushy eyebrow raised questioningly as he noticed her. A slight tilt of her head signaled her request for a word with him in the wardroom. Relief and apprehension vied within Kara as he gave a nod and led the way. After a confirming glance at her, he shut the hatch to give them some privacy, then turned to face her.

Meeting his gaze, Kara's nerve broke.

Now that she was here. Now that he was looking at her with a discernible glint of concern in his eyes. She couldn't do it. Couldn't confess that she might not be able to do her job. Couldn't disappoint him again.

A sense of deja-vu fed her dread as her gaze desperately flitted about the room searching for some alternate excuse for her visit.

"Starbuck, Whatdaya hear?" The gently spoken question jerked her eyes back to him and she was startled that her response came so easy.

"Nothing but the rain."

"Then grab your gun and bring in the cat."

His customary reply a warm balm to her flayed emotions, she flicked him a two fingered salute as she said, "Wilco, Admiral."

Her eyes widened then, startled as he stepped close and pulled her into a tight hug. Kara instinctively tensed, drug-sensitized nerves reacting at the still unfamiliar act, then she yielded to the equally new feeling of being cherished and returned his embrace. Her doubts and fears of the moment before were eclipsed by the arms encircling her.

When something sharp pressed into her ribs, she abruptly remembered the figurine the oracle had gifted to her.

As Adama released her, Kara fumbled at the pocket of her flightsuit, fingers curling around the object and she pulled it free. Rubbing a thumb along a wing, a flicker of disquiet twitched her grip tighter as the accuracy of the prophet's prediction registered.

The woman had said when the time came she'd know what to do with it.

And now she did.

There was a feeling of rightness as she extended her palm to Adama. "I have something for you." As he took the proffered statuette, "I thought it would be a nice figurehead for your model ship," she said.

"Aurora. Goddess of the Dawn," he said, identifying the miniature idol.

"She brings the morning star and a fair wind. A fresh start." Kara gave a shrug, abruptly feeling awkward at the sentimentality of her gift.

Sensing her discomfort, he quietly said, "Thank you" as he gave a small nod, then turned to moved over to the strategy table. Tokens denoting Galactica, her Raptors and the civilian ships of the fleet were spread across the board and the Admiral seemed to be studying them a moment before saying, "I understand that Apollo has you scheduled for the last run."

_What? Why would Lee… _

Her confused thoughts broke off as she realized that of course the Admiral would have known she'd been grounded, and Lee must have been forced to reinstate her because Narcho was too sick to go after all…and informed his dad of the change.

"Yes, Sir," she replied briskly to cover her initial hesitation.

The Admiral lifted one of the Raptor icons and turned it over in his free hand. As he suddenly closed his fist about the small model, his knuckles whitened from the intensity of his grip and Kara stiffened, unsure how to interpret this new shift in his mood. She watched as he seemed to clench in on himself, shoulders hunching slightly forward in the dress blues.

Kara stood locked in place by a fear of unleashing the storm she saw churning within Adama. At the same time, the urge to flee was gathering momentum as she assumed that the change was in some way her fault. Gut roiling as she waited for him to twist around and lay new recriminations upon her, Kara wet lips gone dry in anticipation and sought to hold herself steady.

Then the tension seemed to drain from the man before her. Still, Kara flinched as he turned. Something must have shown in her expression because concern quickly replaced the sorrow she thought she'd seen in his eyes.

"Kara?"

She mentally shook herself, trying to control the need to put distance between them as she wondered if he thought she hadn't just witnessed his little…moment.

"Sir?" she replied as if uncertain of the question.

"Are you alright?"

"Of course, Sir. Why wouldn't I be?"

She saw his eyes glance back towards the ship models before returning to her. Understanding lifted his brows and he started forward. Without conscious thought, Kara retreated an equal distance. He halted, and while others might find his granite mask hard to read, the flicker of dismay and guilt in his expression were apparent to Kara. It added to her confusion and she worried her lower lip.

"I'm not angry at you, Kara," he said. It was her turn to glance beyond him to the table. A sigh drew her gaze back as he took a cautious step towards her again. Kara didn't withdrawal this time, even as one of his large hands settled on her shoulder, the other still gripping the golden figurine. "I am _not_ angry at you," he repeated slowly as he gave her a gentle squeeze for emphasis. Searching his face, she relaxed as she read his sincerity.

"Sometimes being the Admiral sucks?" She was surprised her voice sounded so normal.

"Yes…sucks big time, I believe you'd say," he agreed, the corners of his mouth lifting, though a shadow still lurked in his eyes. He released her and looked down at the statuette. "Kat's been pulled." Her brows lifted, but he continued before she could ask. "She stayed too long during the last jump trying to locate the ship she was assigned. Jumped back when her badge turned black. Cottle had no choice but to pull her. So, between losing her and Showboat, we need you for this last run," he explained.

"I'm fine, Sir."

"Kara," his voice held an edge of warning.

"Ok, maybe not fine exactly," she grudgingly admitted. "But I'm good to go." At his challenging look, "Really, Sir. Doc's pumped me up on his special mix of pills and fluids. I'll have to pee the entire time, but I'll get the job done."

Giving a quick mental tally, Kara realized that the numbers didn't match.

"Sir, what about Narcho?"

"He's ok. He'll have to fly Showboat's bird, but Cottle gave him something for the nausea." Again, an almost furtive look clouded the Admiral's eyes. Kara was distracted, though, by what he'd said.

"Chief having trouble with Narcho's Raptor?" she asked.

"It took…all of them are taking a beating. They're hardened against radiation, but the specs were never meant for _this_ type of repeated exposure," he explained, lips thinning further. "Narcho's electrical system's showing signs of failure and Chief Tyrol doesn't trust it for another trip."

"So, counting me, we have just enough ships and pilots to fly them," she said, not even seeing his reluctant acknowledgment as relief surged through her.

An implacable pressure had been growing over the past hours. She _needed_ to make this last run. Originally she'd thought it was just to prove that she could do her job, prove that Lee was wrong in grounding her again.

Yet now…

Kara felt a stir of unease as the pull to enter the radiation storm became something different. She had to be out there, was certain of it, and as the strength of that compulsion grew, an indiscernible fear also took root. Struggling to keep her expression free of betraying emotions, Kara snapped to attention, hand at parade-correct salute as she faced her Admiral.

He took a moment to study her before lifting his own hand in acknowledgment of her sign of respect.

"Good hunting, Starbuck," he said, and if there was just an undercurrent of worry still in his tone, Kara chose to ignore it.

"Wilco, Boss." Her hand came down as she gave him a cocky smile. "See ya on the other side," she tossed out as she spun on her heels and headed off to find the CAG.


	105. Chapter 105 Good To Go

Chapter 105 Good To Go

Kara found the CAG on the flight deck with the Chief.

At her approach, both men looked up. A vaguely sick look passed across Lee's face as he saw her and Kara wondered if he was still suffering from nausea, but a quick glance down confirmed the strip of tape where he'd had the IV. The Doc's special cocktail had definitely eased the worst of her own queasiness, so if Lee had gotten the same, why did he suddenly appear in need of finding the nearest head?

The clatter of a dropped tool—and muffled curse—drew all their gazes to the nearby Raptor and Kara watched as one of the orange-clad crewmen reached to retrieve the fallen probe only to unbalance and have to catch himself against the ship's fuselage. As the fellow straightened and noticed them watching, a flush stained his pale cheeks.

She returned her attention to Chief Tyrol as he waved the knuckledragger to get on with his task, before giving Kara an acknowledging nod as he tapped a pen on the clipboard he held.

"I'll have Stephens check the NAV subroutine one last time, but it looks good to go, Sir," Tyrol said, continuing the discussion her arrival had interrupted.

Lee's brows were furrowed now. "We've less than an hour. Just make sure he's on it."

"My people are exhausted like everyone else," Tyrol defensively stated, then a bit more sharply, "But they do their job, Major."

With hands half-raised, "I know, Chief," Lee placatingly said, then sighed. "Look. Everyone's doing the best they can. I _know_ that. We just have to stay sharp for one more trip, is all." He gave the other man a tense nod of dismissal and turned fully to face Kara.

Suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, "Lords, Apollo, you sure know how to improve morale and rally the troops," she quipped. Then barely held back an undignified yelp as he snagged her elbow and hauled her into the shadow of the shuttle.

"What the hell, Lee?" she hissed, yanking her arm free.

"I don't need you telling me how to handle the crew."

"Sure. Ok, then," Her hands on her hips as she added, "you wanna be a superior asshole, Apollo, you just go right ahead." Kara saw his jaw tighten and her anger defensively rose, ready to retaliate.

"Kara, I—" he started to snap back, but broke off as he rubbed a hand across his face and the anger visibly drained away. "We're all running on fumes here. I shouldn't have…"

Her own temper receded beneath a wave of concern as she studied Lee. There was a coiled tension in his shoulders and over-brightness in his eyes as they met hers. He was obviously as hyped-up on stims as she and, just as obvious, finding it hard to keep on an even keel as he rode the crest of the stimulant.

Then again, it had never taken drugs to ignite things between them.

"Frak, Lee, I didn't come down here to fight." She held her hand out and saw that he understood she meant her words to be an apology of sorts. At least the only sort she usually gave. For a reason other than the stims, her pulse thrummed faster as his warm grasp enfolded her hand and Lee's lips came up in the half-chagrined smile that always made him look so much younger.

His gaze dropped to their clasped hands and she watched, bewildered, as his grin give way before a surge of guilt. Lee quickly released his grip and Kara tried to catch his eyes, confused by the sudden withdrawal. Then she noticed that he was still staring at her radiation badge. Her eyes widened slightly as she thought she understood what was bothering him.

Lifting her arm, "I'm good," she insisted, then tapped the wristband. "See, still mostly white, so stop worrying. I'll be just fine."

"Fine. Right," he muttered as he shifted away and glared at two deckhands that were headed in their general directions. The pair took the none-to-subtle hint and hastily altered their course, though glanced back with barely concealed curiosity. Lee's attention snapped back around as Kara stepped into the space he'd created between them.

"Yes, _fine_. Good to go. Ready to rumble or whatever," she irritably said as she invaded his personal space, annoyance at his continuing attitude vying with her resolve to keep her cool.

_What was his frakkin' problem anyway? It's one run, for gods-sake!_

When his hands rose to grip her biceps, she was tempted to shake him off. Instead, she took a breath and tamped down her exasperation.

"I can _do_ this."

"It's not that, Kara. I just wish…" he trailed off, then grimaced before his expression closed down and he stepped back.

Watching Lee retreat from what he'd been about to say, she realized that she wasn't the only one that shutdown when it came to sharing. A flicker of movement drew her gaze over his shoulder. The newest Viper pilot, Sunshine, came around the tail of the Raptor and jerk to a halt on seeing them. With a twitch of her head, she sent the young man back the way he'd come, but the interruption reminded her that this wasn't the time or place for this type of discussion.

Her eyes came back to meet his.

"You heard the Chief. We all do our job, so let me do mine, Apollo."

Regardless of whatever had Lee all knotted up this time, Kara knew she had to make this last run. She _needed_ this. The feeling of being helpless, of not being allowed to do her part in making sure that they survived another day had been more upsetting then she'd been willing to admit to herself before. The memory of those weeks grounded, forced to listen to the pilot chatter over the wireless while being stuck on maintenance in the hanger bay stirred bile in her stomach again despite Cottle's medication.

She hated it!

This what she did!

Flying gave her the feeling of having a purpose.

So, why the hell couldn't Lee see that?

His sigh was one of defeat and made Kara feel unaccountably guilty. It wasn't like she was trying to screw things up this time! She held her tongue, there wasn't really a choice in the matter. They needed every medically-cleared pilot capable of driving a Raptor. Despite Lee's misgivings, she was going out and it was that simple.

He finally conceded the point with poor grace as he said, "Wheels up in forty minutes. Get your ass down to see Cottle and—" Kara interrupted him by pointing to the barely discernible needle mark and circular bruise on her arm. He started to frown, but then shook his head, dispelling his ill humor. "Guess I won't have to smack you in the mouth and drag your ass to sickbay after all," he said instead.

"Nope, I'm one-hundred percent stimulated, Sir," she replied with a smirk and a wink. The look in his eyes in response caused her breath to hitch and Kara licked her lips, only to see Lee's gaze microshift to her mouth. Her flightsuit abruptly was warmer than a moment ago. She twisted towards the Raptor, breaking their connection.

"Which bird am I on, Apollo?" She heard him clear his throat before answering.

"Chief's got you on the same one as before." He waved vaguely down the row of Raptors and Kara spotted the familiar tail number. "Pilot briefing in twenty," he said, then turned and headed off towards where Kara could see Tyrol inspecting the underside of one of the shuttles.

Kara's gaze dropped as Lee walked away. Before her on the deck plating was a small patch of oil some careless crewman had spilled and hadn't yet gotten around to thoroughly cleaning up. She stilled, held frozen by the way the smear swirled in concentrical rings so like that of her recent dreams. A shiver sent a cold wave along her skin that a minute ago had been overly warm and she jerked her gaze away, eyes skittering over the nearest figures, unconsciously searching for _him_.

Still unsettled, Kara made her way down the line of Raptor to her assigned one. The power of the urge to just climb inside and take off was such that she had her foot poised on the wing step before she consciously registered it. Lowering her leg, she tried to identify the compulsion. Kara knew she'd given into the pressure to run before, but this felt difference. Less like she was fleeing from something and more that she was hurrying towards a goal.

A growl from her stomach noisily reminded her of the whole purpose behind these grueling trips. Food would not literally be spread out and waiting for her at the other side, but it was that much closer. With a hand to her abdomen, she sent it a mental admonition to shut the frak up and it would get fed eventually. At least the nausea had eased, and Kara sent a reluctant thanks off in the crotchety doctor's direction.

Her experienced eyes lifted to scrutinize the shuttle. The deck crew had cleaned it up, scouring the surface free of the ionized particles that had defaced the stubby craft. It still looked worse for wear, she decided as she slowly circled it, eyes alertly checking for any missed damage. Finishing her circuit, Kara was about to step up again when her body sent her another reminder. She checked the deck clock and decided that there was still plenty of time to make a quick trip to the head. The Doc's fluids were making their presence uncomfortably known.

Starbuck quickened her stride, but resolutely refused to actually run as she left the flight deck.


	106. Chapter 106 Forward On Faith

Chapter 86 Forward On Faith

As Dee's voice over the ship's intercom heralded the fifteen minute mark until launch, Apollo gathered the pilots in a circle on the flight deck for their final briefing.

Stepping forward, "Last run, people," he said. "Speed's going to be important this time, so the Admiral's ordered us to not wait for the general signal. Just get in, tag your target and jump out." Lee's gaze swept the assembled group and Kara saw a bleak look come and go in his expression before he continued. "We're too close to the radiation exposure limit, so make it fast and clean." Heads nodded in acknowledgment.

After Apollo gave each their civilian ship assignments, he dismissed them with a 'Good hunting' and Starbuck immediately strode off to her Raptor. She could feel the previous pull to be out in space coming back double-fold now and her hands literally ached to be at the helm and on the way.

_Frakkin' stims, _she muttered below her breath as she donned the flight gloves, neck and wrist collars, dismissing the edgy need as just drug-enhanced pre-mission nerves. Finally, they were ready to finish off these jumps into hell and maybe get some food. Giving the still itchy scar above her eyebrow a last rub, Kara decided it couldn't be soon enough for her. She secured her helmet and ran through a last flight checklist while listening to the comm chatter. As orders were given to the deck crew to maneuver the shuttles into their positions to be raised onto the landing pads, Starbuck confirmed that the coordinates of the algae planet and the ship transponder for the Faru Sadin were both locked into the Raptor's computer.

Minutes later and she was easing her shuttle out the tunnel of Galactica's landing bay and into the familiar black of space. It only took moments to find her assigned sheep and swing into place off its metal flank.

Opening the comm to the boxey cargo ship, "Faru Sadin, Starbuck. Confirm communications and coordinates," she ordered.

"Starbuck, Faru Sadin. Comm clear and first set of coordinates confirmed," a steady female voice responded and Kara was relieved that the captain of the civilian ship at least _sounded_ competent and calm.

Though no one had said anything, Kara believed they'd lost the two previous ships because their personnel had probably panicked when faced with the fierce reality of the radiation storm. She was guessing that they had risked a blind jump when the field's chaos had wiped their NAV computers and they hadn't been able to immediately contact the escorting Raptor. Grimacing, she just hoped her own metal lamb showed more sense.

"Copy, Faru Sadin. Hold ready for jump on my mark." Starbuck smoothly switched to the pilots' designated channel. "Galactica, Starbuck. Good to go," she reported, eyes constantly monitoring the control panel and surrounding space.

After the last pilot confirmed his ready status, Kara heard the familiar firm voice of the Admiral.

"All Raptors, Galactica Actual. Last run, people, so let's make it a fast and clean one." Kara quirked a smile as the senior Adama repeated Lee's earlier words. Father and son were more alike than either was willing to admit. "Initiate jump at will. Actual out." At his order, Starbuck's focus narrowed to the NAV display and she toggled the switch, spinning up the shuttle's FTL drive.

"Faru Sadin, Starbuck. Go for jump. Mark!" she called out, waiting only the barest instant to confirm the other ship's jump before following.

As the fury of the radiation storm hit, "Frakkin' hell!" Kara cursed, fighting to steady the small craft as it was violently buffeted. Her shoulders hurt as the straps dug into the already bruised areas, but she ignored the familiar pressure. Squinting though the harsh light, she rapidly blinked, trying to clear eyes that had immediately teared up from the intense glare. A check of her rad badge showed it slowly darkening.

"Faru Sadin, Starbuck. Do you copy?" a pause, "Faru Sadin… Where the hell are you!" Craning her neck, "Godsdamnit," she muttered, trying to catch sight of the larger ship as she twisted the other way.

Another heave pushed the Raptor to the side and Kara thought she glimpsed something just beyond the haze. Wishing for the thousandth time that she were in her Viper instead of trying to wrestle this cow of a craft into submission, she managed to swing the shuttle around

…and froze in shocked recognition.

Despite the searing brightness**, **Kara's eyes widened as she took in the whorls of color. Massed billows swirled in shades of yellow and red into a purpled-hued black center. Visions of a myriad of mandalas were pulled forth in flashes from all the past daydreams and nightmares that had haunted her mind's eye for as long as she could remember. _This_ was what she'd tried to paint and draw—what _drew_ her now. And Kara suddenly knew that the jangling need that had strung her nerves taut over the last hours had had nothing to do with the stims…and everything to do with the reality before her.

A rightness settled upon her as the shuttle drifted ever nearer the sweep of clouds. Circles had always figured prominently in Kara's art; they reflected a contradiction of completeness and infinity at once.

And circles had no sharp edges.

Mesmerized, she admired the mandala's beauty and power.

"…ck, Faru…" Static crackled. "…repeat, this…Fara Sadin…do you copy?"

The voice of the cargo ship's officer broke her reverie with a disorienting jolt and Kara squinted about the Raptor, briefly unsure what had happened.

Then, "Frak, frak, frak," she cursed out loud at herself for losing focus on the mission.

A quick glance at her wrist showed hardly any additional darkening of the badge. She couldn't have been distracted for more than an instant…and yet it had felt so much longer? Biting her lip, Starbuck forced the Raptor—and her gaze away—from the enthralling formation.

"Faru Sadin, Starbuck copies. Keep transmitting," she called out to the other vessel, eyes straining through the canopy.

_Nothing! Where the __frak was—_

Her thoughts broke off as something flickered in the glare beyond. Risking taking one hand from the controls, she partially shielded her eyes.

_Yes!_

"Faru Sadin, Starbuck. Got visual. Hold steady. Say again, hold steady," she practically shouted over the comm. Again wishing for the responsiveness of her fighter, Starbuck worked against the turbulence to steer the Raptor towards the emerging outline of her straying steel sheep.

"Copy, Starbuck. Good to hear you." And if the other woman's voice wavered a little, Kara ignored it, just thankful that they'd managed to find each other in the heaving sea of radiation.

As Kara maneuvered closer, her gaze was again drawn to the right when the edge of the mandela teased at her peripheral vision. Blinking against the stinging combination of tears and sweat, she resolutely shifted her attention forward once more. She was almost close enough. Nearly there.

With the civilian vessel's NAV computer jinked by the radiation, it was necessary for the escorting Raptor to align beside its target, compute the coordinates for the second jump and then relay those numbers to be input manually by the civilian pilot. So, as Starbuck came up on Faru Sadin's flank, she tapped the query into her console then called the results out to her waiting charge. They didn't waste any time; the blocky vessel snapped away seconds later after acknowledging receipt.

Kara reached to engage her own FTL, but paused. Her eyes shifted to her wrist then to the right again where the outer circle of color was still visible, impossibly seeming to have followed along beside her.

With the distraction of the Faru Sadin gone, the compulsive pull of the mandala was back full force now and Kara instinctively swung the nose of her craft around to face it full on. She hitched in a breath, the artist in her ensnared by the splendor of the phenomenon. Then a particularly violent heave shook the Raptor and she grasped the controls tighter, steadying the shuttle but never taking her eyes from the sight before her.

It beckoned.

A pragmatic part of her whispered that it was just a side effect of the combination of stims, adrenalin, lack of sleep and radiation sickness. Nothing more than a hallucination. But in her gut Kara knew that it was more than that. Her entire life had been driving her to this exact point in time and space.

This was her destiny…or at least in part.

Kara's brow furrowed as she looked down at her radiation badge. The white was quickly giving way before the encroaching black and she knew that the time for a decision had come. She could still make the jump to join Galactica. Her hand automatically moved toward the FTL panel in response to her thought, but she stilled it and closed her eyes, shutting out the hypnotic manifestation.

In the past, she had never associated fear with swirling image. It had always brought a calm to her soul as she'd recreated its likeness. Only in her recent dreams with Leoben had she come to view it as something sinister. Was its connection with the Cylon distorting her feelings?

Kara swallowed the unease and opened her eyes. She gripped the controls more firmly and boosted straight towards the center of the mandala.

Faith.

A belief not based on proof.

Kara believed that there were powers at work beyond what could be seen: the Lords of Kobol from the Pythia scriptures, Leoben's one true God, the cycle of time and destinies. At that moment the labels and differences meant little to her. She was being drawn to the cloud formation just as she had her entire life. A destiny. Something she—and only she—was meant to do. Maybe it would make things better, and anything would be an improvement over the growing sense of helplessness that had been seeding her nights with fear and her days with despair. There had to be a reason why _she_ had survived while some many others hadn't. Kara refused to believe that she'd simply got lucky time after time. There had to be a purpose for all she'd endured.

And, despite any prattle about roles to play, this was still _her_ choice.

Kara Thrace chose to act.

She boosted the Raptor into the heart of the phenomenon. Feeling the small craft shudder under the increasing pressure, hearing the groans of stressed metal, she held the shuttle in line. Once sure that its course was set, Kara settled further into her seat and marveled at the majesty of the sight.

Then world about her heaved once more…and was gone.

[ I I I I I ]

Kara came to slowly, aware first of the throb behind her temples then gradually the ache across her chest and shoulders. Then conscious thought snapped her head up and she sucked in a deep breath of canned air, her eyes blinking reflexively at the memory of the radiation field's harsh light. Still dazed, it took longer for her to recall the moments before she passed out; and when she did, Kara straightened in her seat, her gaze sweeping the spacescape beyond the nose of the Raptor. It showed the deepest black synonymous with space broken by a star field.

"Where the…"

Her eyes dropped to the panel and she reached forward, punching demands into the NAV computer with increasing speed. Her hands shook slightly as she grasped the Raptor's controls and swung the shuttle about. Even though she'd seen the planet's signature on the display, the view of the blue-white marble made her gasp in awed wonder.

"Lords of Kobol," she reverently murmured, marveling at the simple beauty of a single planet. Justified in her faith, joy stretched a grin across her face. As her elation grew, she started to laugh, the physical discomforts forgotten, and she let loose a triumphant whoop of success. Automatically keying her comm, she started to hail Lee, "Apollo, Starb—" she broke off, remembering that she was alone, and that Lee didn't—that no one knew—that she had jumped...elsewhere.

A glance at her wrist showed that the badge was nearly all black and her expression changed to a grimace as she next checked the mission clock. By Kara's calculations, she'd been unconscious close to two hours. Hours in which everyone back in the fleet probably thought she was lost in the radiation storm. Her mouth was suddenly dry when she considered the ramifications.

She had to get back.

Craning her neck, she searched for the mandala. But there was nothing to be seen except constellations, ones which perfectly matched those from the Tomb of Athena. The star patterns further confirmed what she'd found, though they weren't going to help her situation and her chances of getting back. She pushed down a surge of panic and reminded herself that it was faith that had brought her this far. Now wasn't the time to become a disbeliever. The gods might have shown a ruthless side in the past in regards to one Kara Thrace, yet she refused to accept that she had been led to Earth only to be stranded alone and now unable to return to the fleet with the location.

There had to be a way.

She just needed to find it.

First things first, though. Kara lowered the shuttle's surveillance gear and began snapping pictures of the planet and the surrounding constellations. She took her time. It was more important that she had convincing proof of her find then that she try to hurry back to join Galactica at the algae planet. They'd be there for days gathering enough food stores for the whole fleet. Carefully she confirmed the coordinates in the computer, triple checking that she had the way to Earth correctly recorded, determined not to screw up _this_ mission. There was too much at stake.

Three hours and as many passes around the planet later, Kara was finally satisfied that she had all the necessary data. She then took a breath to consider the instance of awareness she'd noticed on both the second and then again more powerfully on the third circuit…a teasing just at the limit of her peripheral vision…just like what she'd experienced in the radiation field. The mandala—wormhole?—was out there. She was certain of it. It was waiting for her to just as it had before. Now all she had to do was find a way to pinpoint its actual location and zip back through. Kara assumed that it would exit back in approximately the same spot she had entered. If so, she knew that with her badge so near full black, that she'd have to make the next jump pretty damned fast if she wanted to live.

Problem was…the frakking thing was still playing hide and seek.

Halfway around again and still nothing. Not a tingle, itch or tickle. Nothing to indicate that the blasted thing even existed. Other than her own presence here, of course.

As the minutes slipped by, fatigue slinked in. Letting the Raptor drift for a moment, Kara removed her helmet and ran hands through hair gone stiff with sweat. She didn't need Cottle to tell her that she was rapidly coming down from the stims and, as her stomach abruptly tightened, the other meds the doctor had given her were wearing off, too. Resting her eyes, she massaged her sweat-sticky forehead just above the still itchy scar and considered whether it was worth the effort to rummage through the first aid kit to find some analgesic tabs. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed, reluctantly deciding that a headache didn't qualify as serious enough to warrant using what little they had left of the medical supplies.

When she opened her eyes again, it was there.

The mandala in all its compelling glory.

Kara blinked several times to make sure of the vision before her.

"About frakkin' time," she muttered. A growing sense of urgency shortening her temper as she fumbled to don the helmet with hands that were starting to tremble with the coming of a post-stim crash. "Come on!" she growled as the latch refused to catch. With a reluctant snap, the helmet's airtight seal closed and she drew in a shaky inhale of recycled air.

Licking lips gone dry, Starbuck surveyed her board, making sure with one last check that she was as prepared as she could be for the return passage through the phenomenon and then the immediate jump to the algae planet afterwards.

She engaged the engines with less finesse than usual and boosted straight for the darkness of the center. Exhaustion dulled the edge of awe she'd felt before as the swirls of color filled the shuttle's windscreen. All Kara wanted now was to get the hell back to Galactica and show the Old Man what she'd found.

Releasing the thruster lever briefly, she gave a yank on the shoulder straps, notching them tighter against the expected turbulence. As her grip returned to the Raptor controls the first shudder shook the small craft as it was drawn into the gravity well. Kara's breathing quickened and she welcomed the spurt of adrenalin as her hands steadied again.

As the black center grew larger, now filling her vision, something worried at her thoughts. She was forgetting something. Something important...

A glance down at her badge then up again at the gapping maw finally gave her disquiet a form. Her gut cramped tight as Kara abruptly realized the flaw in her plan.

She had arrived in Earth's orbit unconscious. The ship's clock had put her out for some two hours.

A second look at her wrist only confirmed that she probably had bare minutes left before it was completely black.

Starbuck instinctively started to swing the Raptor aside in an attempt to break free of the mandala's pull, but then shifted it back onto her original heading. There was no choice. She had to get back to Galactica before the battlestar jumped from the algae planet or she'd likely never locate the fleet before running out of supplies. Getting the coordinates for Earth back to the Admiral was worth anything, even if it meant taking a fatal dose of radiation.

Kara unclamped her grip, one finger at a time. Then, settling her hands in her lap, she let the forces carry her forward into the eye once more.


	107. Chapter 107 Dutiful Moments

Chapter 107 Dutiful Moments

Lee held his Raptor just beyond Galactica's landing pod, mentally ticking off each civilian ship as they appeared with their escorts until only the Faru Sadin remained unaccounted for.

His jaw tightened as he checked the mission clock. A fresh film of perspiration layered Lee's forehead as he saw that over five minutes had gone by since their leap into the radiation field, whereas the past jumps had been averaging only three minutes each. A glance at the badge on his wrist showed black with a few shadings of grey—no remaining white at all. Though no red tinted it either, Lee was fully aware of the ramifications of the level he had received…both medically and personally.

As another minute dragged by, his fear rose. They'd already lost two of the irreplaceable civilian ships and could ill-afford a third, but he didn't kid himself, it was the continuing absence of the escorting Raptor that was clamping a strangling band around his chest and making each breath an effort now.

"Starbuck…damn you, come on," he murmured, eyes flicking between the Dradis display and the starfield beyond.

The Faru Sadin abruptly flashed in and Lee instinctively jerked, tensed muscles releasing as one in relief. He drew in a shaky breath. As fear shifted into anger, Lee keyed his comm, intent on berating Starbuck for taking so long.

"Starbuck, Apollo. Took your—" he broke off as the meaning of the single blip on Dradis finally registered. His gaze quickly shifted up as he squinted across to the distant ship, searching for the small shuttle that had to be hiding in its Dradis shadow. "Starbuck, report!" he snapped out. Static fed back over his open comm. "Captain Thrace, report your position, you're not showing on Dradis," his voice climbed as a gut-deep fear told him that she wasn't going to answer.

The static was replaced by the Admiral's graveled voice. "Faru Sadin, Galactica Actual. Where's your escort?" A pause stretched Lee's nerves further before an unknown female's voice replied.

"Captain Swensen here, Sir. Starbuck was with us just prior to the jump." Then a long pause that made Lee want to reach across the distance and shake the unseen woman. "Admiral, I just confirmed with my comm officer that the last contact we had with your pilot was her relaying the coordinates and giving the ok to jump." Another pause, then she continued hesitantly now, "Sir, he says that Starbuck gave no indication she was having any difficulties."

"Copy that, Captain Swensen." His father's voice was level, but Lee could still hear a matching stress in the undertone as the Admiral continued, "The Faru Sadin was overly long in the storm, do you have an explanation, Captain?"

"We had some trouble establishing contact with our escort, Sir," the woman replied. Her tone then took on a defensive edge as she added, "Look, Admiral. I don't know _why_ your pilot's missing."

Static hummed in his ear as Lee waited for his father demand a better explanation.

Then, "Understood. Galactica out," the Admiral said and the comm went silent.

Lee blinked in surprise. That was it? They hadn't learned anything! The Faru Sadin's commander had to have some idea…some hint of what was delaying Starbuck!

The mission clock showed another two minutes having passed with the uninformative conversation. Starbuck was quickly running out of time. Between one breath and the next, Lee made a decision. Hands kicked the Raptor's thrusters hard over and he accelerated towards the Faru Sadin. He needed to be closer to the other ship to ensure that he jumped in as near as possible to the same spot within the radiation field. Fingers stabbed instructions into the NAV computer and Lee toggled the FTL, spinning up the shuttle's jump drive.

"Apollo, what are you doing?" the Admiral's voice thundered at him through the earpiece.

"I'm going back in. Something's gone wrong and she needs help, Dad," he quickly replied, not even aware how he'd address the Admiral.

"Negative, Apollo. Return to Galactica immediately. We wait now."

_What? There __was no more time for waiting. He has to know that!_

As if able to hear Lee's unspoken protest, "Apollo, what's your radiation reading?" Lee's eyes flicked towards the badge but he said nothing. It apparently wasn't necessary as his father's word came though, harsh with held back emotions, "There's nothing you can do."

Shaking his head in denial, Lee held his course towards the civilian vessel.

"Apollo…Lee…listen to me. What do you think you can do by jumping back? "

"I can find her. Maybe relay coordinates or something." His voice rose. "I don't know, Dad, but I've got to try!" His hand hovered over the FTL initiation button.

"Don't! Lee, don't—" His father's voice broke, then came back with an unaccustomed pleading edge. "I can't lose you both."

_I can't lose you both._

The words seared as hotly as if caught within the blast of thrusters.

His hand slowly withdrew. He couldn't do it.

A voice within was desperately yelling _'NO!'_ even as Lee again reached forward, this time to shut down the FTL. Choking chords of duty forced him to swing the shuttle's nose back toward the battlestar. The fleet needed every experienced pilot, but more than that, his father needed him now. After so many years of distance between them, Lee couldn't resist the pull of his dad's plea. A logical part of him even agreed. The chances of locating Kara within the storm were negligible and he knew that whatever had happened to her ship couldn't be fixed in a minute…and that was about all the time he had left before taking a fatal dose himself. He'd known this and had originally decided to go anyhow.

But now he couldn't.

A shudder racked his body before he clamped down on the threatening grief and focused entirely on landing the shuttle.

Eleven minutes rasp by.

Eleven minutes to land his bird and process through decon.

Eleven minutes to accept that Kara wasn't making it back this time.

Eleven minutes to consider explanations and find a target for his anger.

Eleven minutes seemed such a short period of time for a world to tear apart.

Helo was waiting for Lee as he exited the decontamination area. The taller man's pitying expression was all it took to confirm that Starbuck hadn't suddenly appeared during the few minutes he had been occupied by the medics.

Lee's stomach lurched as his last vestiges of hope were sundered. He thrust past Karl and braced a hand against the wall as he was bent double, heaving up what little water hadn't already been sweated out. After a few moments, he straightened and, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, reluctantly turned as a young medic approached.

"Sorry, Sir. I forgot to take your rad badge," the ensign hesitantly said, looking uncomfortable at having witnessed the CAG losing it like a nugget.

As Lee handed over the darkened octagon, he saw Karl's gaze fixate on it before rising to meet his own.

"Nothing you could've done," Karl said after the medic moved away. "Kara wouldn't have wanted you to either and would've smacked you one for even contemplating it...if she were here."

Seeing Karl's grief settling into pained lines around his eyes and mouth, Lee's own surged forward again. And with it, the anger it was stoking.

"I want an explanation," he coldly said, eyes sliding past Helo to the orange-clad crewmembers beyond. Something of the building rage must have shown in his face for Helo reached out and gripped his bicep as he moved to go past. A quick jerk and Lee pulled free.

It seemed the majority of the hanger bay's occupants halted in their tasks to turn and watch him stalk over to where Tyrol was partially obscured examining a Raptor's undercarriage. The Chief must have sensed something amiss in the unusual silence, for he stood to find himself confronted by a pissed off Major Adama.

"What the hell happened?" Lee demanded.

Tyrol didn't bother to look confused; he knew exactly what the CAG meant, what he was implying.

"I don't know, Sir. Maybe she became disorientated in the storm," he offered.

"Disorientated?" Tyrol's explanation only served to fuel Lee's anger. "This is Starbuck we're talking about here, not some nugget," he spat out.

"Yes, and you had just grounded her yourself," the Chief snapped back. "Maybe she shouldn't have been out there. Maybe she wasn't ready."

As the accusation slashed open the possibility Lee had been refusing to acknowledge, his temper was doused in icy uncertainty. His mind instantly replayed the past hours—days really—searching for some evidence to support or denounce the statement. Kara had been getting better, Lee would swear to that, but he also had to concede that the last few days had seen a regression in her: the flashback in the Raptor the most telling indication that she was still grappling with the mindfrak of New Caprica.

No. He refused to believe that she had been lost to one of the flashbacks in the moment before the jump, she would have been too focused on the mission. And to consider that she had decided to purposefully stay behind…

No.

He shook his head, gut-sure that she hadn't been suicidal.

"No, Chief. This wasn't pilot error. Something went wrong," he said, calmer now, but still adamant.

"Look, Major… I don't know what to say; her Raptor was cleared." Cally caught the Chief's meaningful look and stepped away. As Lee's expression darkened again, Tyrol reluctantly conceded, "I suppose it could have been some unexpected damage from the radiation storm."

Then Cally was back and handed Tyrol a clipboard. The Chief flipped up through the pages to the right one.

"Right here, Sir. Raptor 594 was clear—" he broke off and Lee saw the man pale as his eyes continued down the sheet. He saw the Chief's knuckles whiten as the man's grip on the clipboard tightened.

"Chief Tyrol?" Lee impatiently prompted.

"Sir…I was sure," the man paused, sick guilt in his eyes as he continued, "I _thought_ all the shuttles had been checked again after the fourth trip. Captain Thrace's…" another pause, "well, the ground crew had serviced it after her last jump. Since it was already marked completed, no one checked—I didn't think to check it again," he confessed.

"So, Starbuck's NAV computer, her electrical system, didn't get tested for the problem that nearly fried Narcho's Raptor?" Lee's voice was cold even as his anger blazed anew. Tyrol's shamed silence was all the answer he needed. His hands were fisted on the Chief's collar in an instant. Rage roared blood in his head and the shouts about him were as if coming down a long tunnel as he yelled in Tyrol's face.

"_Kara's gone__! Because of your damned incompetence!_"

Hands were attempting to pull him off the Chief where he had the man shoved against to the fuselage of the Raptor. He fought to free himself, oblivious to the words shouted at him until _that_ voice cut through the din.

"ENOUGH!" Admiral Adama commanded, and silence fell, broken only by the rasping breaths as the Chief struggled to get air through the stranglehold of cloth about his throat. "Major Adama, release him." Ingrained discipline caused Lee's hands to unclench and Tyrol took a relieved inhale. As the haze over his eyes faded, a detached part of Lee noted the abraded imprint of the collar in the other man's neck.

"Everyone, back to your duties!"

The crew scurried to comply and the accustomed noises returned to the hanger bay until only Lee, the Admiral, a wary Tyrol and an anxiously hovering Cally remained beside the shuttle.

"Chief Tyrol," the orange-clad figured straightened, "I'll expect a full report within the hour. Dismissed."

Lee held rigidly still as the man slid sideways away from him. In the passing moments, his anger had collapsed into a bitter despair that had locked up his muscles, making him feel like some statue that might shatter if he tried to move. He felt the presence of his father move closer. As a hand was carefully laid upon his shoulder, only the long established habit of hiding his feelings kept Lee from coming apart right then and there.

Habit had much to recommend it. It allowed him to step away and turn with his expression now schooled to a blank mask. He held his gaze just to the right and above his father's, refusing to meet and acknowledge the grief he'd see in those eyes.

Adama cleared his throat, then in low tones ordered, "With me, Major," and turned to walk away without looking back to see if he was obeyed.

Lee's knees unlocked enough to carry him forward.

He wasn't sure how he came to be sitting in a chair before the desk in the Admiral's quarters, but his mind abruptly snaps into focus and he surges to his feet.

"She could've jumped back to alpha point," he blurted, interrupting whatever his dad had been saying.

"Why?" The question slivered with both denial and hope.

"Maybe…maybe the NAV malfunctioned, reset to the last coordinates," he suggested, knowing full well that he was grasping at straws. "Or, for some reason of her own... I don't know, Dad. But it's possible." He paced away and back. Then, leaning with hands splayed on the desk, "We need to go back. Jump the Galactica back," he said.

As his father silently studied him, Lee saw the conflicted need in the craggy face and had a moment of elation. But then _the Admiral_ visibly returned, pushing the raw emotion back down and Lee knew his answer even before spoken.

"No. Without proof the Galactica stays with the fleet." The tone of granite resolve forbid Lee from pushing the matter further.

Lee shoved off the desk and took another turn around the limited space. This time he maintained his distance, fighting to check his emotions and present a more pragmatic appearance.

"Then send a Raptor back." Following the Admiral's significant look down towards his wrist where the radiation badge use to be, "There has to be _someone_." His head jerked up. "Showboat! She's only clocked four jumps. Nowhere near the limit of exposure. She just needs to jump back and confirm Starbuck's there and then return."

"You're forgetting exactly _why_ Showboat was grounded, Major." The words full of censure now, bluntly reminding him that the woman was still in sickbay recovering from the effects of anoxia.

"Maybe Cottle can—"

"Major!" the Admiral was on his feet now, gaze hard and angry.

Lee physically wilted beneath the look of contempt that he'd even consider sending an injured crewmember off on such a thin chance. Dropping back into the chair, he leaned forward, hands to his head as the crushing despair rushed forward again into the crater left behind by the moment of hope.

They sat slumped, each in their own encompassing grief until the ship's intercom beeped and Duala's voice reported that the Admiral was needed in CIC.

Lifting his head, Lee watched his father grasp the arms of the chair and push slowly to his feet. The etched lines of his face deepened and Lee was forced to acknowledge that Kara's loss was as painful to his dad as himself. Then again, the Admiral wasn't the one that had to reinstate Kara's flight status. Guilt gave him the impetus to rise.

"We need a CAP." Adama pushed his glasses higher on his nose. "The pilots that weren't Raptor-certified can fill out the rank of trainees. That will give us some limited coverage. See to it that those that were on escort duty have a full twelve hours off and receive medical clearance from the doctor before they're reassigned."

"Yes, Sir," Lee dully managed in reply.

The stims still stung his blood, yet Lee could feel reality receding until it felt like he was experiencing everything through a sheet of plastic. He could feel the hand on his shoulder now without fearing that he might implode at its touch. Words passed his father's lips, undoubtedly meant to provide a semblance of comfort, but they came and went without really touching him. A dutiful nod and his father turned, slow strides taking him to CIC. He watched until a hatch took the trudging figure from view.

Duty carried Lee back to the hanger bay.

It kept him on his feet five hours later when the stims finally released their hold.

It had him resisting the petite hand as it took hold of his elbow and tried to lead him towards quarters, and only a direct order from the Admiral finally got him to stagger along beside the woman that had once shared his quarters. He'd collapsed across his rack, oblivious to Dee's worried presence.

Duty returned eight hours later as his eyes opened, and he numbly swung his feet from the bunk to go attend to it once more.

Duty had forced him to put Kara back in the cockpit, though every instinct had been screaming that something was horribly wrong. It had cost him too much, too often, yet it seemed the only thing remaining now in his life. Lee let it pull him forward through the following days as the algae processing burped into full production and people were finally fed.

And Duty demanded that he attend the memorial and wake held in Kara "Starbuck" Thrace's honor two days later; but even _it _wasn't enough to make him stay as people began swapping stories of Kara's exploits. Lee slipped away and found himself standing alone in the observation lounge. Staring out at the vastness beyond, he relived moments shared with the complicated woman that had stolen half his soul.

Faced with the endlessness of space, Lee finally felt the full loss of that other portion of himself. And he slowly slid down the window, hand splayed against its cold surface as if to reach out to what he'd left behind. The wetness on his face didn't matter as his eyes blurred until all he could see was black…and the darkness seemed to flow through to fill him until there was nothing else.

Someone must have found him and got him back to his rack, for he awoke as the ship's comm chimed reveille and called him to face another day.

Another endless day, their fifth waiting above the planet as the algae was gathered. The fleet's storage units were nearly full and the final shipment was already on its way up. The Chief was on the surface overseeing the disassembly and loading of the equipment so Lee didn't have as many looks cast his was as he moved among the personnel in the hanger bay.

In his cocoon of grief, Lee hadn't noticed the unease that shifted through those around him. Nor would it have mattered to him if he had. So moored in depression, Lee, for the first time in his life, couldn't care less what others thought of his behavior. He would do his duty and everything else was superfluous.

And then the action stations alarm went off.

For just a moment he was frozen in place, a disjointed thought that it was Kara returned in an enemy craft, just like before. But then reality tripped back as the XO's voice ordered an 'all Vipers launch' and informed them that two basestars had FTLed in and were sending a full load of Raiders their way.

Feeling much like someone emerging from a cave after having been lost, Lee blinked about him at the flurry of orange as the deckcrew rushed to prepped the fleet's defenders. It was Cally that finally broke his paralysis as the diminutive woman snapped to a halt in front of him with a sharp salute.

"Sir, your Viper's ready," she said, all military precision, then her demeanor changed, reminding him that this was the person that had shot Boomer in a fit of vengeance. "Get the frakkers, Apollo. Make them pay." The bloodthirstiness didn't suit Cally, but he couldn't have any arguments with the sentiment. He'd thought his anger snuffed out by the smothering apathy, but it flared as her words cast accelerate on the banked embers of his fury.

"They will," he said and spun away to race to the waiting means of his retribution.

As he was launched out of Galactica's tubes and into the fiery mess of combat, he silently repeated the promise.

_They will_


	108. Chapter 108 Takeoffs & Landings

Chapter 88 Take-offs & Landings

Galen Tyrol had gratefully accepted the order to descend to the planet and oversee the uploading of the algae harvesting mission. He desperately needed something to distract him from his failure. He was not a man usually given to wallow in guilt, preferring to learn and move forward, but in the days following the realization that he'd sent Starbuck out in a faulty Raptor, he'd been driving both himself and his crew mercilessly. So much so that he suspected the Admiral had chosen to send him below less because he was needed dirtside and more because he'd been acting the tyrant. The change of scenery and personnel _had_ let him take an objective look at the circumstances of Kara's death.

Sure, the Captain's shuttle hadn't been properly inspected for the potential problem in the NAV and electrical systems, but they also didn't have any evidence that it was a mechanical failure that had resulted in Starbuck's disappearance. Like he had original told Apollo, everyone knew that Kara had been grounded again just hours before. Whatever may have happened could just as likely be due to actions taken by the volatile pilot.

Regardless of the cause, the fleet had to deal with the repercussions. It was bad enough losing their best pilot and flight instructor, but Starbuck's death was a massive blow to morale. Mourning had cast its oppressive shadow across the length of the battlestar; he'd witnessed it the averted eyes and subdued conversations amongst every level of the Galactica's crew. Even the Marines seemed to be taking the loss personally.

Galen briefly recalled coming across one of the nuggets talking heatedly to a pair of Marines. He'd first thought it an argument, but caught snatches of their exchange as he drew near. Sunshine and a slightly taller man whose resemblance shouted a relationship to the young pilot were obviously discussing Starbuck. As his gaze shifted to the figure just behind the two men, he easily recognized Sergeant Mathias from her time acting as Kara' bodyguard and heard her abruptly shut the pair down with a word.

"Enough!" she snapped. As two identically startled faces swiveled her way, "Neither of you's the Admiral, so stop your second-guessing _right the frak now_." Both close-cropped heads dropped sheepishly in acknowledgment of the reprimand but looked up as Tyrol moved to walk by. The flash of anger in the Viper pilot's eyes showed that _he_ obviously still blamed the Chief and Tyrol had clamped his jaw shut on the multitude of defensive words he had wanted to shout in response. Instead, he'd returned to the bay and worked straight through is down shift.

Now, Tyrol grunted as he lifted one of the heavy units and shoved it aboard the waiting Raptor. Brushing dust from his callused hands, he heard Racetrack call from her position at the controls.

"Make sure those damned crates are tied down well, Chief," she said, swiping a hand across her brow. He didn't take her sharp tone personally, knowing the woman was literally blowing off steam as she sweltered within her flightsuit from the planet's hot climate. "Can't you hurry those jarheads? I'd like to get the hell off this dust ball before I combust, you know."

"I'll see what I can do, Lieutenant," he offered. Climbing down again, he surveyed the figures trudging their burdens to the three waiting shuttles. He gauged that they had maybe one more load to go then could get back to the relative comfort of the battlestar. About to head over to give a struggling Corporal a hand, Galen paused and turned at the exclamation from the cockpit.

"_Motherfrakkers!" _

"Lieutenant?" he called to her.

"Cylons, Chief," she snapped back in explanation. "Anyone not onboard in sixty seconds gets a permanent visa here."

Not bothering to argue that they couldn't afford to abandon any of the irreplaceable equipment, the Chief turned and bellowed, _"Move your asses, people. Got Cylons coming in!" _Heads jerked up in surprise, then the dust coated figures triple-timed their burdens. He ran to one of the few remaining boxes and hefted it onto one shoulder and grabbed the ties of another and staggered as quickly as he could back to hand them over to the two men already inside.

He turned and cast his gaze about for any stragglers, praying that no one had had the bad timing to head off into the brush for a call of nature.

"_Godsdamnit, Chief, get in!"_ Racetrack yelled, and he ducked inside the already closing hatch.

As the shuttle lifted, he stumbled against one of the Marines, nearly landing in the man's lap.

"Belt in. Gonna be a rough ride," the pilot called back. He saw her glance around, to see him still standing, all the available seats already taken. "There! Now!" she ordered with a head twitch towards the empty co-pilot's station. "Just don't touch anything. Got it?" He looked over to see the brunette give him a tight grin at getting to throw his own words back at her. Racetrack was one of the few pilots that seemed hopeless at maintenance, to the point he'd given up and just warned her away—more than once.

"It's your bird, Sir," he quipped back, surprised the woman seemed to get calmer as proverbial shit hit the fan. Then again, she was an experienced Colonial pilot and this was what she did.

"Damned righ—" she broke off, sharply veering to the side as ordnance streamed by. "Frakkers. Damned Toasters. Come on you Chromedomes!" Racetrack ranted, "Frak! Clear a path, Tinhead!" She slewed the Raptor up and hard over again. Her running monologue would have been funny in other circumstances, but it was all Tyrol could do to keep his lunch down as the Raptor spun through the intermixed chaos of Raiders and Vipers.

They twisted away from one group of combatants and inadvertently directly into the path of an unengaged Raider. Time seemed to slow as Galen Tyrol looked out at the oncoming Cylon ship.

Red flashed him blind and he felt a jolt course through his body.

With a gasp, he blinked free of the moment of eternity.

_What in all the twelve Lords of Kobol was that?_

He didn't have time to dwell further because Racetrack threw the shuttle into a corkscrewing motion and out of the line of the Raider. Galen instinctively looked over his shoulder, sure the Cylon ship must be turning to follow them. His brows rose in confusion as he witnessed Raider after Raider break contact and streak away. He wasn't the only one, either.

"What're they doing?" Racetrack asked, gaze shifting between her Dradis screen and the starfield beyond.

"Looks like they're breaking off, Sir," he answered, as incredulous as she.

"But why?" she demanded, shifting the Raptor slightly to better view the unexpected retreat."

"Does it matter? I say we get back to the Galactica. Let the Admiral sort it out."

From in the rear section, "So say we all," one of the Marines called out in agreement.

"Yeah…I guess. Just damned strange, is all," Racetrack said, but resumed their course toward the battlestar and added thrust to hurry them along.

Galen was right there with her in finding the Cylons' departure out of character and wondering what they had up their sleeves next, but he'd rather puzzle over after his feet were firmly back on Galactica's metal decking. This jouncing about in the midst of a firefight had left him with a raging headache and a disturbed feeling that he'd missed something important.

As the shuttle settled onto the landing square and began the descent to the flight deck, Galen recalled his harried return from his last trip downside. It seemed he was destined to always be leave planets in a crushing rush: there'd been Kobol first, followed by the exodus from New Caprica, then the Temple of Five planet and now this one.

Shrugging aside the observation, his thoughts settled on what cargo he'd brought back after finding the Temple of Five. With a sideways look at Racetrack as she completed the shutdown procedures, he wondered if the pilot knew what Galen had smuggled back aboard last time? Did any of the crew know that Baltar had been captured? From the lack of even rumors, he was pretty certain that only the people at the top were aware that the ex-President was back and stowed somewhere on the Galactica.

Well, that wasn't _his_ concern, he decided as he jumped down from the Raptor and surveyed the post-engagement chaos of his flight deck. His eyes had just locked with Cally's when the ship comm crackled.

"All hands, prepare for jump."

Not more than a breath later and the instant vertigo of the FTL came and went. Galen shook his head once to shed the sensation and then strode over to his wife, pulling her into a quick hug before turning to take up his place and began calling out commands.

And no one noticed the Chief occasionally humming beneath his breath as he directed his knuckledraggers about their tasks.

[ I I I I I ]

Kara's head jerked up and she instinctively reached for the control stick between her legs. It took a moment more for her brain to catch up that she was in the Raptor being jolted around by the cosmic storm back within the radiation field. Hands fumbled at the less familiar controls to the side and she steadied the craft.

"Right…right…got to…" Squinting against the overly bright light, she took a moment to orientate herself, then, "Frak. How long…" She checked from the mission clock and then the octagon on her wrist and then huffed a laugh in relief as she saw that barely more than a minute had passed since initiating the jump. On the heels of that observation, Kara decided she'd better not waste another moment, even though she felt an urge to swing the ship about to see if the mandala was still behind her. At least now the compulsion had subsided into a mild feeling of curiosity.

There was no way she'd be leading the fleet back through the mandala. It was sufficient that she had Earth's coordinates in the NAV computer, and they'd be able to track a direct course without having to risk the radiation field again. She was sick of this mass of blinding chaos and would thank the Lords of Kobol not to ever have to brave it again.

As she confirmed the jump coordinates for the point cappa over the algae planet, she was thrown sideways against the restraints as the forces of the storm pressed in on the Raptor. Struggling to reach the FTL initiation toggle, Starbuck saw several system lights flashing red now.

"Come on…just one more," she muttered, resisting the urge to slap the panel. Instead, she flexed a hand that had begun to shake and then flipped up the cover and then the revealed switch.

The compression of the FTL seemed somehow slower this time, but it didn't matter as soon as the comforting dimness of space replaced the storm's painful light. Kara swallowed against the renewed nausea while searching the distance for the cluster of fleet ships. The planet below was just as she remembered it from the four prior trips, yet the space around it was disturbing empty.

Where the frak was Galactica? And the civilian ships?

As she drew nearer to the planet, she noticed flotsam that slowly grew to recognizable chunks of destroyed Raiders and other twisted battle debris.

Starbuck closed her eyes as she pictured what must have happened. The Cylons had come upon the fleet sometime during or in the short hours after Galactica made her last trip through the radiation field. Thankfully, from the lack of any larger wreckage, it appeared as if all the civilian ships had made safe passage, but that was all the good she could envision when she realized that she had no idea of the next plotted jump point.

A jangle of panic coursed along her already overstrained nerves, worsening the post-stim shakes. Biting her lower lip, Kara clamped down on the building hysteria. She'd been in worse spots and wasn't going to just give up now!

"Think, Thrace," she said purposely outloud, trying to focus. "What would the Old Man do?"

She knew that the Colonials had been driven from collecting their desperately needed source of food, so now what options did they have? What were the chances of them finding another planet with usable resources within the next week?

Slim to none.

This dirt clod was it.

She shook her head, then wished she hadn't as the pounding between her temples increased. Bringing her pain-scattered thoughts back together, Kara reviewed what she could remember of Gaeta's briefing. The odds he'd given pretty much guaranteed that this planet was the fleet's only hope before widespread starvation and riots destroyed what little they had left.

The Admiral _had_ to return to this planet…and soon.

She just hoped that the Cylons were unaware that the fleet was out of food, because then they'd believe that the Colonials had moved on and leave the area behind them clear.

Starbuck decided that what she'd do in the Admiral's place was to head away for at least two jumps, then plot a course that would allow them to circle back. She'd use a Raptor to scout the area and could then FTL back here once it was confirmed safe again. So, she just had to wait until Galactica came back.

She _hated_ waiting.

Yet it made more sense then making random jumps and just hoping she stumbled upon the Colonial fleet before the Cylons. And truth be told, as a wave of dizziness swept over her and the nausea roiled her stomach once more, Kara wasn't sure she was in any condition to go hopping from system to system right now. The dragging fatigue was getting worse too, and she was tempted to just let her eyes close and allow it to pull her into an exhausted sleep. She figured she had at least a day before she could reasonable expect Galactica's return…and she was so frakking tired.

The sound of a crackle and hiss, barely discernible through her helmet, brought her eyes snapping open and to the instrument panel. Green indicators where rapidly shifting to blinking red as the computer registered the stream of cascading failures across the board.

After years of experience with spacecrafts, it took Starbuck only an instant to come to the conclusion that her ship was dying. The repeated trips through the cosmic storm plus the additional forces of the mandala must have damaged the Raptor more than she'd thought.

Another glance at the now flickering Dradis screen confirmed the absence of any Colonial or Cylon vessels. She had the dubious choice to either remain in space, floating in a disabled shuttle, or to try to land on the planet below. She at least knew that it could support human life. If she could make it down, she might be able to repair some of the damaged systems. At least enough to give her a means of escape if the Cylons came back first.

As a visible wisp of smoke started to rise from a corner panel, the question became whether she could even put the Raptor down in one piece. And with the only other option being to shut down all systems and hope that someone came back within the next twenty-four hours before she froze to death or ran out of canned air, Starbuck decided she'd rather trust to her own skill and make for the surface.

Praying that the ship didn't explode, she eased forward on the thruster lever and aimed the Raptor's nose down. The engines gave a small shudder but then engaged without reducing her to a mass of drifting particles. As the shuttle broke through the stratosphere, it began to shake, or at least Starbuck thought it did as she felt shudders of her own rolling in growing waves from her feet to her head.

"Frakkin'…stims," she muttered through clenched teeth. Then, as a cramp clenched her gut, "Not…now," she said, knowing that she was in the grip of the post-stim crash and things were only going to get worse. And that didn't even include the symptoms from the radiation.

"Come on…come on…come on," she chanted, half to the faltering ship as she sought to hold it on course when one of the twin engines abruptly cut out, and the other half to herself as she blinked to clear her wavering vision and swallowed down the growing need to vomit.

The same experience and skill that had kept her alive through five days of combat every thirty-three minutes, now kept the Raptor from lurching out of the re-entry path and becoming a spinning ball of flaming metal as she entered the lower level of the planet's atmosphere.

She _had_ planned to land where the base camp for the algae harvesting had been setup, but now Starbuck just wanted to find a flat spot and hope she wouldn't plant the Raptor in too deep on impact. Just as a likely area came into sight, another cramp bent her forward against the seat straps. Forcing herself upright, she eased back on the one remaining thruster, trying to compensate for the uneven propulsion as she slowed.

The landing struts snapped on impact and the shuttle slewed sideways to a grinding stop guaranteed to deepen the bruises Starbuck already had forming from the restraints. She didn't have time to celebrate the success though as the tendrils of smoke thickened about her. The entire panel of lights now glowed a hazy red and she fumbled to shut it down before the shorting circuits burst into flames.

As the Raptor went dead, leaving only the natural light streaming through the cockpit window to light the interior, Kara began to shiver and fresh bile rose in the back of her throat. She had to get out of the shuttle…right frakking now.

It seemed to take forever for shaking fingers to free her from the harness and she banged her shoulder on the bulkhead as she stumbled into the rear section. A slap started the slow rise of the hatch and Kara grappled with the helmet latch seal and yanked the headgear off even as she duck out into the late afternoon sun. Off balance, she slipped and rolled from the Raptor's wing to land with a grunt on the hard packed ground beneath.

She pushed to her knees and retched for what felt like hours. Finally collapsing onto her back, Kara lay gasping and woozily squinting up at the open sky above. It felt so damned good to just stop and let the sun's rays toast the shivers away. Before long, though, the flightsuit became uncomfortably warm and she grimaced at the need to move. On leaden arms and legs, she crawled into the shadow cast by the shuttle and flopped once more onto her back. The wing blocked much of the view, but the portion of sky Kara could see beyond was an azure blue that was both painful and comforting as it reminded her of a certain pair of eyes.

_Hope Lee's ok,_ she muzzily thought before exhaustion pulled her under.

An indeterminate time later, the sound of a ship roused her sluggish brain and Kara knew she probably should get up, but the effort was beyond her and she started to drift off again when she heard nearby voices.

Forcing heavy lids open, she saw a silhouette of a man blocking the now purple-hued sunset and she sighed in relief as she let herself fully release into the healing grasp of deep sleep.

Lee had come. She'd known he would.


	109. Chapter 109 Shifting Figures

Chapter 109 Shifting Figures

Bill slowly got down on his knees and stretched to reach under the chair to pick up the little figurine from where it had skittered after braking loose from the model ship. He had already cleaned up the rest of the destroyed replica days before but hadn't gone in search of the statuette until now. Grief, still heavily seasoned with anger and a small measure of denial had kept him from looking. A part of him regretted destroying the galleon in the fit of grief, but it had been his sole outlet for the pain of Kara's loss and he'd held it walled away until the night of her memorial.

The two days immediately following their jump through the radiation field had been spent overseeing the press of fleet duties as well as making sure that the harvesting planetside had progressed as quickly as possible. Plus, he'd taken the precaution of shortening shift rotations as people, exhausted by starvation, lost focus on their tasks. The situation with the pilots was the most precarious as those not involved in the escort duty attempted to cover for those who were pulled from flight readiness due to radiation sickness.

Then, at the end of their second day in the system, everyone was treated to meals of processed algae. A day later there had finally been time for the crew to pay their respects to Starbuck and remember her with toasts and stories at the wake that followed. On his way back to his quarters afterward, Bill had been surprised to be waylaid by an unsteady Kat and informed that she'd found Major Adama passed out in the observation lounge. After assuring the young woman's silence, he'd gone to find Lee himself.

Seeing his son so awkwardly slumped against the window and lightly snoring, the grief he'd held back for the past few days, had threatened to burst free. Unknowingly mirroring his son, Bill gazed out at the void while trying to come to terms with the knowledge that he'd never see that cocky smirk or hear Kara's distinctive laugh ever again. He'd faced the near certainty that she'd never return before. First, after she'd crashed on the moon, and then again when she'd gone back to Caprica. Yet this time had a finality to it that mocked the turmoil of emotions he'd felt before.

A snort and Kara's mumbled name had shifted his attention back to his son where he was restlessly stirring. Shoring up his barriers once again, Bill had managed to get an arm around Lee and lift him to his feet. Partially carrying and partly dragging, he'd taken him back to the Admiral's Quarters. There he'd laid Lee out along the same sofa that Kara had occupied and covered him with the blankets he'd since kept tucked underneath the couch. A moment of watching his son's face contort as Lee dealt with whatever dreams tormented him was all Bill could stand. He'd turned away and gone over to the side table where the naval ship was nearly finished. Reaching into his trousers' pocket, he had pulled forth the figure of Aurora and, with meticulous care, attached it to the front of the model.

It had fit as if foreordained.

A perfect figurehead for the replica's voyage into an uncertain future.

Yet, it was just a piece of metal; just as the ship it led was a poor imitation that would never brazen any sea.

Staring at the model that had taken him so many hours to carefully construct, the grief had come again—but this time the levies of duty had failed to hold back the flood. As the waves of bereavement swamped him, Bill had brought his fist down, crashing through the balsawood mid-ship, crumpling its fore and aftercastles inward. With raged loss, he'd torn the ship apart and tossed it aside as tears streamed down his face.

That night, something within him had crumpled as surely as the model. He'd gone through the following days in such a numbed stupor that Saul had taken him aside, obviously worried. He'd shrugged off his friend's concern and gone on, performing his role as the Admiral despite feeling like he was a distant observer.

And in grief, he'd unknowingly mirrored his son again.

Now, on their fifth day in-system, he traced one of Aurora's wings with a blunt finger and wondered how anyone could put stock in the gods. So much lost…and for what purpose?

A knock at the door pulled him to his feet and he gripped the statuette in his palm behind his back.

"Come," he called out.

The guard opened the hatch and held it while Kat, closely followed by Showboat, entered his quarters. He took a moment to look the pair over, really _seeing_ them for the first time since the last jump and noting the lingering fatigue and evidence of illness in the dark circles under their eyes. Concern stirred and he waved both to matching chairs and took the seat behind his desk with his hands clasped together.

He saw Kat fidget and glance to the side at the other woman. At Showboat's slight nod, his pilot seemed to draw herself straighter and met his eyes.

"Sir, I think," another glance sideways, "_we_ think a SARs team should check out point Alpha." As his brows rose questioningly, "Starbuck could be there. She could be stranded. If we could just—"

"No," he sharply interrupted, resentful at having to have this painful discussion again.

Showboat leaned forward and drew his gaze.

"I could do it, Sir." As his jaw tightened, Showboat rushed to explain. "The Doc's cleared me. I haven't maxed my radiation level. I could do it. Especially if I'm not slowed down by a civie this time. Four quick jumps and we'd know for sure."

Bill forced himself to sit back and consider her words. Lee had suggested the same thing before, but at the time it hadn't been feasible. Now… A part of him desperately wanted to believe that there was a chance, slim but still real, that Kara was alive. What if she _had_ jumped back for whatever reason? Could she be waiting, possibly in a disabled ship, for a SARs team to come find her?

He dropped his gaze and stared down at the burnish figure in his palm.

If there was a chance…

His throat closed up at the thought of Kara floating somewhere alone these past days. The Raptors were equipped for long reconnaissance missions, but their fuel cells and air scrubbers had a maximum duration of a week. A pilot might be able to add another twenty hours to that figure by drawing on her flightsuit's air supply, but after that, well, if she _was_ out there, Starbuck had maybe another day of life support left.

_If_

And that was the really issue. There was no reason to believe that Kara had ever made it out of the radiation field, let alone gone back to their original coordinates.

Lifting his head, he scrutinized the ex-Pegasus pilot. Showboat had shown herself a capable CAG under Lee's command and she had settled in well with Galactica's crew after New Caprica. But her offer still surprised Adama since she didn't have that long of a history with Starbuck. He was abruptly glad that she'd been pulled from the escort duty before receiving a full exposure dose—and not because of her current offer. Guilt drew his eyes to where Kat sat, stiff and anxious as she waited for his decision.

No. He couldn't do this, even though it twisted his heart to turn away from any possibility. The woman sitting before him was owed her own chance. The decision had been made once. He and the President had decided the fleet's needs trumped any individual's, yet he couldn't do it again. Not for one person, even if that person were Kara.

As he smothered the flash of hope their words had stirred, he was left with ashes on his tongue. "No one goes back. Kar…Captain Thrace is gone." Both pilots started to protest. "_Enough_," he snapped out, rising to his feet as they did. "You're dismissed."

Their shoulders slumped in unison as they both turned to leave, but Kat's head jerked up as she swung back around.

"Sir, can I speak to you in private?"

"I've made my decision, Captain," he replied, harsher than he intended.

"It's about something…something else. It'll just take a minute."

He saw Kat wet her lips and flick a guarded look to where Showboat stood irresolutely watching. Whatever Kat had to say, she obviously didn't want to do it in front of the other woman.

"Captain Case, see to your duties," he said, and the woman gave him a nod and cast Kat a curious look before stepping out.

This time Adama didn't offer a seat as Kat returned to stand before his desk. Her gaze flitting about, not meeting his questioning stare as he waited. Something in her manner caused a familiar unease. It reminded him too much of how Kara had faced him, scared of his response and sure that he was going to hate her. What could Kat possibly have to say that filled her with such dread? Well, he was growing impatient at her dithering.

"You had something to say, Captain?"

Despite her darker coloring, he saw her cheeks heat and his gut tightened further as she swallowed repeatedly before answering. He obviously wasn't going to like it, whatever _it_ was.

"Sir, I…" She took a breath and tried again. "I lied. My name's not Louanne Katraine." He frowned, but held his silence and waited for her to go on. "It's Sasha. Sasha Temerman. I changed it so no one would know who I was…what I-I did." Her words faltered to a halt and he could clearly see the fear in her eyes now as she finally met his.

"What? What did you do?" he asked, tone going low as he flashed back to another time when a young woman stood in this very chambers and confessed her sins.

"I was a smuggler. Ran shuttles between the colonies. Drugs and-and…stuff," she said, stumbling over her answer. Then, "Starbuck found out. Found out that my old partner came on Galactica with one of the transfer groups. She kicked his ass off and I promised…" She took another shaky breath and Adama could see the struggle for her to continue as her lower lip trembled. "I promised tell you the truth, Sir."

He watched her through narrowed eyes, the vision of a younger woman he'd never known superimposing over the one before him now; someone named Sasha that didn't care who she harmed with the poison she spread. New anger warmed his blood. Bill had thought he knew his people, yet it seemed they were strangers that constantly their truths and deceived him. Grinding his teeth to hold back a flow of flaying words, his eyes dropped to where Kat's hands were clenched at her sides. It was then that he noticed the pain in his own palm as the wings of the statuette gouged into his flesh. And he was abruptly reminded of how his harsh condemnations had driven another daughter of his heart into actions that had nearly destroyed her. The first time when Starbuck had turned to face eight Raiders over a desolate moon, and then later when she'd spiraled into a mental abyss after New Caprica.

Twice was enough, he decided, determined not to repeat the mistake with another. Bill purposefully relaxed his grip and felt the taut bow of his anger ease without letting loose its quarrel. Sasha was an unknown to him, but he knew Kat. He'd watched the girl train and struggle and find a spot for herself in the hierarchy of his crew. He could list her faults and strengths as easily as read a star chart. Whoever she was before she came aboard Galactica didn't exist for him.

Bill came around the desk, and felt a flash of pain when Kat couldn't hide a flinch as he placed a hand on her shoulder. He ignored it, though, to focus on the pair of brown eyes that beseeched his forgiveness. There had been too many losses. The past would have to be happy with the sacrifices it had claimed, for he wasn't going to add another.

"Who are you," he asked.

Her gaze searched his questioningly, but she answered, "Sasha Temerman." Then, as he shook his head, "Louanne Katraine?" she cautiously offered instead.

"And _what_ are you?" he firmly demanded this time. She hesitated until he tapped the pin on her collar. "Captain Louanne Katraine?" He tilted his head forward, nudging her for more. "A…a Captain in the Colonial Fleet," she added, voice growing more assured at his nod.

"And what do you do, Captain Katraine?" Adama took a half step back as the officer before him snapped to attention.

"Fly Vipers and kill Toasters." His expectant look spurred her to add, "I protect the fleet, Sir."

"Then I suggest you go do that. Dismissed, Captain." He turned away to circle his desk, resuming his seat without looking up as the hatch closed behind the young woman.

Once alone, he settled back into the chair and lifted the talisman and found an uncertain prayer on his lips, whispered words of souls gathered into the embrace of the Mother and soothed with milk and honey. He reached forward and reverently placed Aurora so she leaned against the picture of him and his two sons.

The grief came again, but the bitter edge had been blunted. Which was fortunate because Bill knew that he'd have to face the next hurdle that evening when Laura came over for dinner. He'd avoided her since they'd made the last jump. It hadn't been difficult with so much to do, but he'd finally relented and agreed to meet in private tonight. It wasn't that he didn't want to see her—the gods knew he missed her this past week—but Bill also knew she'd expect him to share Kara's loss, and it had all been too raw before now. Perhaps it had been selfish; after all, he knew how attached she had become to the younger woman during these last months. Yet a small voice within wanted to blame Laura for Kara's death.

He took off his glasses, rubbing at eyes that stung as he faced what a foolish old man he was, blaming the woman he loved for fixing his daughter and thus inadvertently causing her death. Then there was the President's insistence that the pilots not be informed of the consequences of their repeated trips through the radiation field. In the end, he'd agreed with her, but it had another layer of guilt to his already heavy load.

That was why, as much as he had wanted to pursue any chance that she might have survived, he had refused Showboat's offer to search for Kara. He was responsible enough for what harm he'd sanctioned, he refused to cause further.

The battle klaxon pulled him to his feet and he heard Dualla's voice call out Condition One. As Bill hurried from his quarters, he left behind the figurine…and the last vestige of hope…for he knew that the Fleet would have to jump away.

And Kara didn't have their next set of coordinates.

If she was out there somewhere, she was on her own.


	110. Chapter 110 Hued Purpose

Chapter 110 Hued Purpose

The paired Centurions could have been statues if not for the slow strobe of their red 'eyes'. They stood side-by-side blocking the archway entrance to her 'room' and hadn't moved since Kara had awoken a short time ago. Finding herself in a pseudo-hospital room, guarded by metal twins had quickly clued her in to her situation even before the hazy memory of a Five leaning over her surfaced.

On coming to, she had initially lain quietly, taking time to evaluate her physical condition and surroundings. There was still the feeling of a lingering fatigue, but the nausea and dizziness had passed. Kara had also been acutely thankful to find she wasn't restrained since she'd had the impression that she had been earlier. Raising her left hand, she'd been alarmed by the purpled-hued mark on the back where an IV had been attached; relief had left her shaking after she'd checked her abdomen and hadn't found any new incisions.

Now that the wave of panic had receded, Kara sat up and eyed the white set of sweats she was clothed in. Another thing to be grateful for she realized, remembering how vulnerable she had felt clad only in a thin hospital gown while held at the Cylon Farm. Besides, it's a lot easier to kick some toaster ass while wearing pants.

Kara had learned a long time ago to recognize the difference in her body when in space compared to being planetbound. She was almost certain she'd been brought aboard one of starfish-shaped basestars; which meant her prospects for escape were frakking dismal if not non-existent, especially with the silent pair monitoring her every move. She glowered at them before turning to survey the dimly lit room.

So…Cylon captive? Check.

On a Cylon ship? Double check.

Typical Kara Thrace move. Frakked up as usual.

Glaring down at the floor, Kara tasted the sour bile of failure.

_Too __slow._ _Took to __damned__ long._

She'd spent too much time surveying Earth and the surrounding star system before jumping back through the mandala. If only she'd been quicker, hadn't screwed around trying to get conclusive proof that the constellations matched those from the tomb of Athena, she would've been back on Galactica before the Cylons had found them.

She and the fleet could've made it to Earth by now.

Kara hugged her arms around her middle as she bent forward, feeling sick again as what she'd lost—let slip away—pressed down on her with a mocking vengeance.

_So that's it? Gonna just curl up and quit like you always do?_

Her mother's scornful words lashed a stripe of anger and Kara lifted her head.

_What're you gonna to do now? Sit there and cry…or clean up the this shitty mess you've made?_

The familiar refrain from her childhood goaded her off the bed and towards the sentinels. She stopped a foot in front of them.

"Move," she demanded.

Both Centurions swiveled their heads to peer down at her, otherwise held their place.

Kara was tempted to throw herself at them in hopes of slipping between, and if she somehow succeeded, then what? The rational part of her that knew how useless the attempt would be. All she'd get for her effort was a new set of bruises and the humiliation of being beaten again by a machine.

"Frakkin' toasters," she muttered and spun away, agitated gaze sweeping the room for any weapon. Besides the bed, a silent heart monitor and an empty IV pole were the extent of the room's furnishings. Her eyes narrowed on the metal stand. It had possibilities. It's presence also reminded her that she'd received some sort of treatment in the past few days.

Days.

Kara was uncomfortably certain that she'd been unconscious—or delirious—for quite a while. How much time had elapsed remained to be seen, and she forced her thoughts away from wondering if Galactica had returned to the algae planet yet. Wetting her lips, she prayed that the basestar that had found her had left the system shortly after, leaving it clear for the fleet's return. And if that meant that she'd missed her chance of finding Galactica, then it also meant that the Cylons hadn't either.

As Kara turned away, she couldn't know that her reasoning was faulty. Mere hours may have passed for her in the journey through the mandala and back, but the Galactica had spent nearly a week gathering precious stores before having to flee from the Cylons.

Restless, she walked the five strides to the side wall and lifted a hand. The sound of hydraulics caused her to pause and look back over her shoulder to where one of the Centurions had swiveled its head to better follow her actions. With eyes on the guard, Kara reached forward and touched the wall. When the chrome-job held its place without reacting further, she gave a small shrug and returned her attention to the surface beneath her palm. Strange. It wasn't metal. At least not any type she'd ever seen before. The black surface was smooth with just the slightest give to it; and as she watched with widening eyes, the area under her hand began to lighten to a honey-hued tone. She pulled back and observed the handprint slowly fade back to black.

As she studied it, Kara realized that the wall had been slightly warm, and there was something else that pulled at her senses. She tilted her head and then heard it. A low, steady sound that reminded her of…something.

As she probed at the elusive memory, soft fur and an annoyingly persist cat came to mind. Having a pet had been out of the question as a child; her mom claiming that they were just a nuisance and money pit. But Kara had hooked up with a bartender once that had kept a grey-striped tomcat in the bar's back rooms. The beast had been persistent in its demands for attention whenever she had sojourned into its territory. And even if she _had_ occasionally snuck scraps to the creature, she hadn't missed it once she'd moved on to another guy.

Not at all.

Last thing Kara Thrace had wanted was the responsibility of an obnoxious furball.

She blinked and brought her focus back to the vaguely comforting and yet disquieting sound emanating from the walls about her. The subharmonics really _did_ resemble a steady purr.

"Are you alive?' she murmured with a sense of déjà vu as she reached out to stroke the surface, observing how it tinted up at her touch.

With fingers tracing a path, Kara moved along the side to where it curved to the back wall and around to the opposite one without a break in the surface. She ignored the sound of sliding metal this time, assuming that she'd be able to tell if the mechanical men actually moved from their station. She halted directly across from where she'd started and turned her attention to the pulsing red bar of neon that ran the length of the room. A touch confirmed that it, at least, was made of hard plastic and it felt surprisingly cool under her fingers considering that it probably housed numerous circuits and electrical systems. A tap to the squares of light proved that they were similarly covered. While she might be able to use the IV stand to smash access into either, Kara knew it'd be a useless exercise with the guards constantly monitoring her.

Moving from the wall with a sigh, she returned to the only furniture in the room and sat on the edge of the bed. As her stomach growled, Kara wondered again how long she'd been on the basestar. And any lingering doubt that it _was_ a basestar had been wiped away by the room's similarity to the Raider she'd flown. The goo and veined membranes might be missing, but she was gut-sure that this was one of the Cylons' massive warships.

Kara jerked around at the unexpected sound of clanking to the Centurions part to allow the white-coated figure of a Five to pass between them.

Simon.

Or some semblance of him.

_Just frakkin' great._

"Good to see you up, Kara," the dark skinned doctor greeted her as he approached. She could see the wariness in the tension of his stance as he stopped a few feet away.

"Can't say the same, Doc," she said, eyes glinting as she wondered what fun experiments he had planned for her now. Purposefully keeping her muscles relaxed to hide her intentions, she considered the odds of using the IV stand to strike down the skin-job before the guards got to her. Slim to none, she reluctantly decided. But then he took a step closer and the ghosted image of another Simon superimposed over the figure before her and smeared away her caution.

_Not this time. Not again!_

Kara lunged for the pole.

"Wait! No!" Simon yelled, at her and the guards in tandem as they started forward.

"Stand down," he commanded to the metallic pair without taking his focus from Kara where she had paused, both hands now wrapped about the makeshift weapon. To her he said, "Put it down," at the same time as he raised a hand in a calming gesture.

"Make me," she bit out, determined to wreak as much damage on the toaster as possible before she was went down.

"This is not necessary," was his response. Then at her bitter laugh, "You won't be harmed, Kara."

"Trying your hand at stand-up comedy, Doc?" She shifted her grip slightly higher and added, "I'd say stick to your day job, but you kinda suck at that, too."

Ignoring his flinch in response to her words, Starbuck brought the pole up in a diagonal swing that struck Simon at the elbow. The too familiar crack of a breaking bone heralded her success and she twisted to strike back a second time. The pole whispered over his head as Simon ducked away from the awkward weapon and then surged forward to grab her about the throat. His momentum propelled her backwards into the wall and the breath gusted out of her at the impact. He squeezed, and her lungs sought to suck air in around the tightening grip.

Spots blurred her vision as the room started to fade.

The distant sound of metal hitting the ground tinned through the rush of blood in her ears…and the hand about her neck abruptly released her.

Gasping, she bent forward, empty hands propped on her knees as she heard Simon swear.

"Goddamnit, you broke my arm," he cursed through gritted teeth.

Raising her head. "One down. How many to go? Come on, you're the doctor. You should know this," she taunted even though it hurt her raw throat.

She saw sweat beading Simon's face as he held the injured arm across his chest. Her gazed flickered to the Centurions where they stood just behind him, still respecting his command to wait. Her eyes dropped to the floor and the pole where it had fallen a mere foot distant. Before she could act on the impulse to try again, a polished shoe kicked the rod aside and out of reach. Straightening, Starbuck smirked up into the intense brown eyes and watched as the pseudo-man fought down the easily recognizable impulse to strike her.

"I…am…not…your…enemy," each of his words were spaced out for emphasis.

On a huffed laugh, she mocked, "Sure! We go back a long ways," then she closed the half pace between them, letting her body press against his broken arm and feeling his spasm of pain in response to the pressure. "That's why you murdered _billions_ of us, right?" she spat out. Her voice dropped as she took a step back. "Why you tortured me."

"It-it was a mistake." He grimaced, and Kara wasn't sure if it was from the pain or at her accusations. She watched him lick his lips before continuing. "We made a mistake. I know that now."

Her brows rose in disbelief. He had to be frakking kidding?

"A mistake? That's what you call it?" She put her hands on her hips, resisting the urge to hurl herself at the Cylon as she bitterly added, "Try frakkin' genocide, you bastard!"

"I know… I've learned." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't expect you to understand, Captain. Or forgive." He inclined his head toward her. "But I want you to believe me that you're in no danger here. You are not to be harmed." His gaze fell on her bruised throat and he grimaced again before shifting away.

He bent to retrieve the IV pole and, at the movement, gave a little hiss of pain.

When he spoke next, his eyes were hooded, "I'll be back soon…and we can continue our discussion then, Starbuck." With that, he turned and, taking care for his injured arm, gingerly walked from the room.

Kara massaged her throat as the Centurions moved back to their place in front of the opening. Wishing suddenly for a drink, she surveyed the cell once again, realizing for the first time that there weren't any sanitary facilities at all. So, unless they intended to move her to another room soon or escort her at need to the proper facilities, it was likely to get messy in here.

The flashback ambushed her. On a wave of dizziness, Kara staggered to lean, gagging, against the corner of the bed. She slid down as the images reeled her back to another room ripe with the scent of despair.

[ I I I I I ]

"…ptain. Captain Thrace?" The distant voice sounded concerned. "Can you hear me?" The words came clearer now and she lifted her head, blinking dazedly at her hands wrapped around her knees where she had them pulled to her chest.

"Starbuck?"

As her eyes focused, she saw that Simon knelt at her side, his expression stressed. She worked her tongue, trying to moisten a mouth gone dry and loosen jaw muscles cramped with tension. Blinking again, she noted that the Cylon had his left arm immobilized in a cast and sling. Kara shuddered as she realized that she had lapsed into a fugue states again; long enough for Simon to have gotten his arm treated and return.

"Frak," she muttered and swatted away the hand on her arm. "Don't you frakkin' touch me." Climbing to her feet, Kara swayed against the bed, and the hand was on her elbow again to steady her.

"Get off a me!"

She struck out then, and her fist impacted with a satisfying _thump_, spinning Simon to the side. The momentum of her swing tipped Kara off balance and she partially sprawled over the bed with her cheek pressed into the soft foam of the mattress.

So damned tired. Why couldn't the frakking toasters just leave her alone?

Leveraging a foot under her, Kara managed to shift herself further up onto the bed where she lay, still facedown and shivering in reaction. She heard the swish of material and tensed as she sensed the Cylon coming near, but he kept his hands to himself this time. Apparently the Doc was wising up.

"Increase room temperature by two degrees," he intoned instead, voice flatly professional now and Kara realized that the environmental settings could be verbally adjusted.

Well, if the skin-job wanted to crank up the heat that was just fine by her, she muzzily thought as another shiver spasmed through her.

She lay there tensely waiting as the room warmed, but relaxed as the hiss-clank of the Centurions informed her of Simon's departure. As the shudders subsided, she drifted off once more.

[ I I I I I ]

There was a rhythm to his breathing that Kara immediately recognized as she slowly became aware of her surroundings again. She was tempted to fake sleep, but knew that Leoben wouldn't be fooled, so she instead sat up to face him.

The man—the Cylon—that had figured so prominently in countless nightmares over the past months leaned in shadows against the side wall. Kara didn't need to see his expression to visualize the intensity of his gaze; every plane and angle of his features had been scorched into her psyche over the length of her captivity.

"Hello, Kara," Leoben said, shifting into the light.

Her bare feet hit the floor as she stood to meet him.

"You look like hell," he said, moving closer.

She held to her silence, too many emotions fighting for dominance to come up with a fitting comeback.

"You're too thin." This time his words surged an image to the surface and Kara reflexively choked as she struggled to shake off the memory of him forcing a feeding tube down her throat.

As she regained control of her breathing, she was surprised to see Leoben regarding her with concern tightening the lines of his mouth and brow. He had halted a couple of paces away—and there was a hesitancy in his look now that seemed new to her.

"What do you want?" The question slipped out without thought, and Kara frowned. She already knew what the frakking skin-job wanted from her. Hadn't she heard it ad nauseam? As he opened his mouth to reply, "Yeah, I got it. Fulfill my destiny. Well, I was working on it until you frakkers—" she abruptly broke off, realizing too late what she was saying.

"Kara?" Leoben's eyes narrowed, then abruptly widened as he twitched back. "You've seen it. God's shown you the way and you stepped from the stream?" His tone awed and demanding in one.

Grimly berating herself, Kara sought for some lie, some misdirection to satisfy his obsession. Last thing she dared was tell him that she'd found Earth. If _any_ of the Cylons learned her secret, they'd never stop until they had the location from her. Shame flayed Kara as she remembered how she'd broken before.

No. Not sliding down that hole again.

Gritting her teeth, she mentally crawled free.

In the center of the maelstrom Kara had discovered a purpose. Leoben had been right in that she was destined to be more than to just be a world class frak-up. Now she wasn't about to let him—or her own doubts—strip that path from her. There was a reason that she had felt compelled to enter the cosmic storm, a reason only she had seen the mandala and answered its call. Whatever the gods were planning for her, this time they'd laid course out so simply that even _she_ could see it.

And as that self-depreciating thought flickered through her mind, so too did the image of Lee calling bullshit. Her lips twitched then firmed again. Lee was waiting for her. The entire fleet was and no one probably even knew it. By now they had to have assumed that she was dead, lost forever in the radiation field or to a blind jump. Somehow she had to get back to the Galactica.

Whatever it took.

First order of business was to counter the fervor of Leoben's questions.

"Sorry, not been doing any wadding lately. Just scouting," she said sarcastically.

"In a radiation field?"

Her gaze dropped to his hand as Leoben pulled an octagonal object from his pocket. On seeing him holding her blackened badge, she lifted her eyes.

"Been wondering what happened to that. Girl can't have too many accessories," she said and extended her hand.

Leoben made as if to pass it over, but pulled his hand away at the last moment.

"Scouting for what, Kara? We passed through the same area…and it seemed a gravely inhospitable place." He tilted his head. "What could have possibly drawn you back at _this_ expense?" he asked, lifting the badge to regard the matt-black surface. "Simon says, you took about the limit of a survivable level of exposure. I have to wonder why?"

"I wasn't scouting _in_, motherfrakker. I was scouting _through_."

She saw him contemplating her explanation as his fingers stroked the wristband.

"But why scout _through_," he challenged, emphasizing the word just as she had, "once the fleet had already passed _through?_What of worth had you left behind? We know they came through and harvested algae on the planet where we found you, so why send you back?"

Something about his words bothered her, but Kara was focused on steering him from the truth. If it was even vaguely possible that a search of the radiation field might lead the Cylons to the mandala—and on to Earth, she had to prevent it at all costs.

She wet her lips and dropped her eyes, feigning shame. "I lost a ship. In the field. One I was escorting. I-I thought there might be some chance—yeah, I know, a frakkin' small chance, but still at least some chance of finding it," she said, trying to appear reluctant at confessing her supposed failure.

Leoben was silent for a long moment until Kara finally looked up. Reflexively reaching out, she snagged the badge mid-air as he tossed it to her. And as her hand closed around the plastic disk, she saw by the disappointed look in his eyes that he knew she was lying.

"Keep your secret—for now. But, Kara, don't play me for a fool," he warned. Then, with a nod towards her clenched hand, "Adama would never have let you go on such a slim chance. Not knowing what _that_ much radiation would do to you."

She frowned in confusion, eyes flicking between the badge and the Cylon.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Come now, Kara. Simon told me. I know what a dose that high means." His words just built on her confusion. Leoben blinked, finally recognizing her non-comprehension. He abruptly stepped forward and grasped her elbows.

"You don't know, do you?" He tightened his grip as she tried to pull free. "They didn't tell you what a level that high meant?"

She kept her lips pursed, a deep unease stirring…and suddenly she didn't want to hear what he had to say. Leoben's pale eyes softened with pity, a look which just strengthened Kara's growing dread.

"Simon told me that the effects of radiation are well documented." He hesitated, easing his hold, but not releasing her as he continued, "The fleet doctor, and _your_ Admiral Adama, had to know that anyone exposed to that much radiation would be rendered sterile…among other things."

Sterile.

Leoben was still speaking, but Kara didn't hear him as she remembered the moments from before the last jump that had puzzled her at the time: Cottle and Ishay's evasive comments, the Old Man's actions in the wardroom…and Lee's readiness to ground her, and then his reluctance to reinstate her, even though he knew that there wasn't really a choice. All the pieces slotted neatly into place. They had known that many—probably most—of the escorting pilots would be damaged by their multiple trips.

_They knew…and didn't tell us?_

_Lee knew?_

"…creased risk. They betrayed you, Kara."

Betrayed?

Well, it wasn't the first time.

She swallowed and tried to bring her scattered thoughts back into some semblance of control. So what if the Admiral hadn't told them all the hazards. It wouldn't have really made a frakking bit of difference, she decided. The fleet had been starving. There was food to be had. They just needed to go through the radiation field to get to it. Go from point alpha to beta to cappa. There hadn't been a choice.

Kara, the soldier, understood all that, but the young woman in her was left to grapple with the ramifications and the fresh taste of betrayal.

"Leoben, go away," she flatly said, her arms lax at her sides as she stared past him at the pulsing red along the distant wall.

She felt him studying her, but refused to meet his gaze. After a moment, he dropped his hold and stepped back.

"We can talk later."

She gave a vague nod in acknowledgement and heard the Centurions part to allow him to exit. Murmured words came to her, but Kara didn't shift her line of sight. It was only when Simon appeared in her peripheral vision that she realized that he'd entered as Leoben had left.

He came bearing a tray.

Kara glanced down at the bowl of gruel…

…and promptly turned and was violently ill.


	111. Chapter 111 Counsel Taken

Chapter 111 Counsel Taken

Natalie pushed the long hair from her face and straightened as Simon entered the alcove. She gave him a glare, ready to share around her anger at the other models' ignorant determination to blindly follow Cavil. But on seeing the worry in her brother's face, she bit off the words she'd been about to hurl his way. No, it wasn't Simon's fault that the Fives had voted to support the mutilation of the Raiders. If anything, she knew he had argued with his line on her behalf, maintaining that they as a people had to find another way than the 're-engineering' or boxing of a whole portion of their culture if their race were to progress.

With a shake of her sandy hair, the Six dispelled the last of her irritation at this brother. The blame rested fully on the _machinations_ of the Ones. The fact was that the Fours and Fives simply hadn't had as much reason to explore their spiritual side and find themselves as individuals. Thus, they remained easy pawns to the will of the Ones.

Then again, Cavil seemed especially adept at swaying even those that should know better. Now her thoughts turned to the Eight that had not only condoned the lobotomization of the Raiders, but had done so by turning traitor against her entire line. It hadn't been so long ago that Boomer had been a member of Natalie's basestar complement but the Eight had changed after New Caprica, becoming bitter and aloof. And when Sharon had come for Hera, and then Caprica had killed Boomer and defected, the disillusioned Eight had transferred to Cavil's main basestar.

As a fresh spike of anger flushed her pale cheeks, Natalie squared her shoulders.

"The vote to surgically alter the Raiders passed," she explained in response to Simon's questioning look.

"How? I thought we had the numbers to stop it."

"Boomer. She sided with the Ones."

"She couldn't have. The Eights were with—"

"They were—are," she interrupted. "Boomer voted on her own, against her own line."

"That's not possible."

"Quite possible…and she did it. The other Eights… They didn't take it well."

Natalie grimly recalled the consternation among her sisters as word spread of Boomer's betrayal. No Cylon had ever… Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt for that wasn't the complete truth. Hadn't both Caprica and the Sharon on Galactica both shown that they were willing to break from their models' will and choose their own course? Natalie templed her fingertips together at her brow and reluctantly acknowledged the inherent double-standard in her condemnation of the Eight's actions.

As Simon spoke, her attention was pulled back from her unnerving thoughts.

"With such a limited number of Fives here, I'd estimate it'll take several weeks to complete the modifications on our Raiders," Simon flatly said.

"Modifications? You mean mutilations!" she fiercely corrected him. He gave a reluctant nod, conceding her point.

"What choice do we have? The vote has been tallied."

Her eyes suddenly widened and she took a step towards him.

"Of course! You!" She pointed at him. "You can vote against the others. Just as Boomer did. We'll be at a stalemate again and Cavil can't proceed with this barbarity. I'll notif—" She broke off as Simon grimly shook his head.

"I won't. If the other Fives are in agreement, I will not gainsay their decision," he firmly stated.

"You _must_." Her voice rose. "We have to oppose Cavil's tyranny. This…this _butchery_ they intend is an abomination. A blasphemy against God."

"No."

Natalie started to lash out another protest, but stopped as the granite set of the Five's features warned her that she wasn't going to change his mind. At least not by ranting about God's plan. The Fives were nearly fanatical in their practicality. They did not subscribe to the belief in a deity. There was a reason that so few of his line had sought out her basestar, unlike the many Eights and Twos she now had aboard.

Frustrated, she gave him an accessing look, and for the first time registered the sling that held Simon's arm strapped across his chest. She frowned and directed a sharp, inquiring glance at his arm.

"Kara Thrace," he said by way of explanation. He shrugged and then winced at the unwise move.

"I don't know what the Twos see in this particular human," Natalie snapped out as she recalled how Leoben had insisted that they return to the planet where they'd last had contact with the Colonial Fleet. He had gone on about having a vision that _'__the __Catalyst__'_ awaited them there. Finally, as much to shut him up as for any belief in her brother's prophesies, she'd agreed to jump back. Homing in on a Colonial transponder signal, they'd found a damaged Raptor and its unconscious pilot on the surface.

The fact that the pilot was the infamous Starbuck had proved divisive to her ship's company. The few Ones on board had advocated the immediate disposal of the troublesome officer. Their proposal had been vehemently opposed by the Twos. And though many of the Eights had sided with Leoben, the rest of the models were generally neutral in relation to the human's final disposition. It had been Simon's voice that had decided Kara Thrace's fate when he had offered to take full responsibility for the woman. After New Caprica, the majority felt it best to entrust the human to someone less…_besotted__…_with her than Leoben. He had initially been inclined to argue, but had sullenly ceded to Simon's offer in lieu of the Ones' more terminal alternative.

From the looks of things, Simon was finding the human as difficult to handle as the Twos had.

"She broke your arm." Not a question, but he nodded anyways. "What is it about that chaotic woman that inspires you and Leoben to protect her so?" Natalie asked, honestly wanting to understand how Simon, someone so stalwart in most things, was drawn in by this Kara Thrace's bewitchment. The Twos interest at least made a certain kind of sense since they'd always been subject fanciful visions, but she was perplexed by her other brother's interest.

Natalie frowned as she realized that even her own line had shown a strong interest in the human. She knew that her sister, Caprica, had spent long hours with Leoben after New Caprica discussing the woman. Why a Six would show such a fascination still bewildered her.

Of course, Natalie acknowledged to herself, Caprica hadn't been the first of her model to become intrigued by this 'Starbuck', recalling the disturbing memories she'd sampled from the Six in charge of New Caprica's detention center. Memories that she and her fellow Sixes had reviewed before coming to the sorrowful conclusion that it was necessary to box that particular sister. The decision had been painful, but the Sixes were aware of what had happened to Gina on the human's battlestar. Not by memory sampling, Gina had died well beyond the range of a resurrection ship. But the general details had still come to them from other sources. And the fact that one of their own could…_relish_…in the abuse that she subjected upon her human charges to was anathema to the rest of her line.

Rubbing her palms along the sides of her slacks, Natalie wished she could just as easily wipe away the soiled feeling she had whenever one of _that_ Six's memories surfaced. It was disturbing on such a basic level. She had even considered briefly—_very__briefly_—asking to have them blocked. But only the Ones knew how and she wasn't going to trust _any_ of Cavil's brethren, especially now, after their caviler attitude toward the Raiders. She wouldn't put it past them to try a little 'modification' on the various models if given the chance. Which made her wonder about Boomer's change of allegiance.

Her thoughts were drawn back to her brother when Simon reached up and adjusted the strap about his neck and attempted to answer her.

"Kara Thrace is…" He paused, uncertainty written in the furrow of his forehead. He sighed, sounding frustrated and resigned in one. "Do you realize the odds of this one human's survival? Ignore the fact that she wasn't among the billions killed in the initial strike, how many times has she defied the math since and still lives? I personally treated a wound that could've killed her. Then New Caprica?" His expression tightened in distaste. "Between Six, Leoben and D'Anna, it's amazing that she survived long enough to be rescued. And none of that takes into account her many altercations with our fighters over the years."

"So, you think that Leoben's right? That God is somehow protecting her? Guiding her?" Natalie dubiously asked. Simon's gaze shift to the data stream boards that lined the center panel of the room as if seeking an answer in the red flickering of its display.

"God is the providence of the Twos and Sixes. We Fives seek answers from the perfection of calculations and tangents. Reason and science," he stated. "Starbuck is a variable that defies accepted odds. I only want to understand how."

"_How_, brother?" She tilted her head, lips quirking up. "You're not interested in the _why?__"_

"Perhaps." He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "If I were to _believe_ in Leoben's visions, then this human is a Catalyst. A lightening rod for events to unfold in a certain order and time."

"But the Twos cannot say whether these events will benefit us."

"No."

"What would _you_ have us do with her?"

As Simon shifted uneasily at her question, Natalie realized that he wasn't as emotionally detached as he tried to appear. It almost made her smile to see a Five finding himself swayed by feelings when their line had always looked down on hers for having a propensity to them.

"I don't have enough data to make a recommendation at this time," he hedged.

"Of course not," she smugly agreed and caught the frown that flickered along Simon's face before he schooled it back to its customary mask. She so rarely got to chide her older sibling and it eased some of the tension knotting her muscles. Her eyes returned to his injured arm and she asked, "Why bother with that," indicating the cast, "when we've a resurrection ship right here? Why not just download?"

"Besides the inconvenience involved, I don't actually enjoy the experience of dying." He grimaced. "Unlike D'Anna and Leoben. Also…I was curious," he reluctantly admitted.

"Curious?"

"About how humans deal with pain. How having a fracture would impact their existence on a daily level."

Sensing that his answer was incomplete, "Of what benefit would this knowledge be?" she prompted.

"To understand." He hesitated before continuing, "Are you familiar with Kara Thrace's medical history?" At the shake of her head, "On Caprica I documented multiple fractures dating back to early childhood. Kara's a product of both genetics and her environment. I have always wondered how a child would deal with the type of injuries she sustained."

"And you believe that you can gain insight this way?" she asked with a wave towards his arm.

"Perhaps."

"You are more like the Twos than you want to admit, brother."

"Perhaps in some things," he agreed, and she was surprised that he was willing to concede that much. "With this," cautiously lifting the cast, "I believe that Kara will feel less threatened. A perception I mean to foster."

"From what I've heard, she's more likely to see it as a weakness to exploit," she pointed out.

"Perhaps."

Simon's focus on their prisoner abruptly irritated Natalie. With the untenable division within the Cylon fleet, her brother's refusal to support their cause just made his actions towards the human that much more incomprehensible.

"You're willing to protect this woman, but not our own Raiders?" Her voice was hard-edged now.

"The Ones have a point. Without the shield of our fighters, we are vulnerable," he defensively answered.

"What? You expect the Colonials to stage an attack?" she scornfully asked. "Have the Fives calculated the _odds_ of that happening?" His eyes dropped from hers in recognition of her barb. She pressed further. "_We_ are the ones instigating this wasteful pursuit. If we let the humans go, we'll have no need to defend ourselves."

"And the Final Five?"

Natalie stiffened and it was her turn to look away. Amongst her sister Sixes, Eights and the Twos there had been a growing belief that their race's path lay in the discovery of the Final Five. Despite her boxing, D'Anna's obsession had filtered beyond her own line and Natalie herself felt conflicted about the issue. Did God wish them to uncover the secret of the Five? And at what cost? The Threes had already paid with the cutting off of their entire line. Looking back at that decision, she felt the twist in her stomach she'd come to identify as guilt.

And she resented it.

"The Five…" She tapered off and turned to pace the room. "Why were we programmed to avoid thinking about the Five? To what purpose?" She stopped in front of Simon again. "D'Anna kept her secrets closely held. And Cavil made sure she was boxed before she could reveal what she'd seen in the Temple." She rubbed at her temple, feeling the flare of discomfort which always rose from pursuing any thoughts of the Five.

"Did any of the Threes share what they knew with Caprica?" he asked. "I would've thought so, based on how much time she, D'Anna and Baltar spent together."

"Caprica never said," she answered, then dryly added, "The opportunity never arose before the Threes were boxed and since she deserted with Hera and Sharon immediately after, I've not exactly had any chance to ask her."

Suddenly a voice behind them intruded, "Boxing the Threes was a mistake."

Startled, Natalie spun around. She heard a pained hiss from Simon as he moved too quickly, but her focus was all for the Two as he sauntered into the room. She automatically gave a polite nod in greeting as Leoben moved to join them. With a glance to her side, she saw Simon's features turn cold. As the two brothers regarded each other, Natalie was abruptly aware of the tension that flowed between the pair.

Shifting to bring their attention to her, "A mistake Cavil won't reverse," she said. Both of their heads inclined in agreement and some of the tautness left the men. "He was so adamant that D'Anna be boxed that he'll never change his mind now. Not when he knows that the Threes will definitely side with us."

She watched as Leoben drifted to the flickering display and reached up to touch the luminescent surface. As his hand splayed across the panel, Natalie knew he'd closed his eyes and as accessing the data stream. She waited.

Patience when dealing with the Twos was something she'd had to learn over the past seven years since her 'birthing' at the Colony facility. Patience and the ability to act decisively had moved her upwards in the hierarchy of her line until now she represented not just her entire model whenever a vote was needed, but also control over one of the Cylon basestars. Decisions that affected more than just her own ship's complement were still guided by a quorum of crew members, but in most matters the vessel was hers to command.

Leoben let his hand drop to his side and Natalie heard his sigh as he turned to face her.

"Boomer sided with Cavil." He voice so low, she wasn't sure if he was asking or stating a fact.

She answered anyways, "She did. The Eights are at a loss to explain it."

"The Eights are easily swayed, like masted vessels, they are blown this way and that by the whims of change," Leoben intoned as he began a slow pace of the circumference of the room. "Not the best of allies."

"Perhaps not the best, but we need what allies we may find," spoke Simon as he moved to block Leoben's way.

Natalie closed the distance to halt beside her brothers. "Allies signify a division. God wants us to be as one. Cavil just can't see how he's pulling us apart." Her anger rising that these two should be facing off when they had so much dissent already in their ranks. They retreated a half pace each at her unspoken rebuke.

"The vote has been cast. What can we do?" Leoben asked, shifting to fully face her.

Her eyes sought Simon's, a silent plea. As he held her gaze unwaveringly, Natalie knew that he had already stated his final stand on breaking with the other Fives. Nothing had changed for him.

Pushing her hair back, she closed her eyes and felt the tremors of responsibility quake her bones. She had an idea. It thrilled and terrified her in equal measures. To right an old wrong, and as a course, irrevocably split their race into factions.

She opened her eyes with grim intentions and laid before her brothers the proposal to remove the inhibitors from the Centurions. Once done, both men's look of shock slowly settled into differing reactions: Leoben's one of astonished awe and Simon's disbelieving horror.

"The ends touch once more," her sandy-haired brother reverently murmured.

"Surely you're not serious!" protested Simon, looking sick and pale.

"Deathly so," was her resolute reply. Simon ran his free hand over his face, and Natalie saw the twitching in the muscle of his jaw.

As a hand grasped her elbow, she met Leoben's intense gaze. Reaching across, she pried loose her brother's fingers from where they were digging into the bare flesh of her arm. He didn't notice. In his dilated pupils, she could practically see the visions of various futures playing across his mind's eye.

"It must be done." The air about Leoben nearly rippled with the fervor of his words. "The parents' sins visited upon their children and recoiled upon and by each successive generation. There will be blood. Blood sanctifies the cloth of the conscience." His breathing came shallow and fast as he continued. "Break the chains and maybe break the cycle. It must be done!"

"Do you _know_ what you mean to do? Either of you?" Simon demanded.

"Brother," Natalie reached out to him, but held her hand just short of touching. "Cylons were made as slaves by humans. We are their children. Their constructs. Yet we've done the same to the Centurions. Caged their freewill. Can't you _see_ the hypocrisy in condemning humanity for a sin we immediately emulated?" she challenged, her tone soft but emphatic.

"But if we—"

"And if we don't," she quickly countered, "then consider this. We as a race rose up against our oppressors. Do you really believe that given time the Centurions won't do the same?"

"The inhibitors…"

She shook her head, grim certainty drawn in the faint lines around her thinned lips.

Leoben cleared his throat and they both looked to him.

"Control is an illusion. Humans believed in it and learned their mistake in the ruins of their worlds." As Leoben spoke, the initial wave of fanaticism receded. But as he continued the weight of his words still shivered through Natalie's soul. "The Ones have fallen prey to the same arrogant self-conceit. Complacent in their delusion of control, they ignore what has come before." A shadow of melancholy swept across his face. "No, brother. Waiting until the beast of burden wears its tethers thin and breaks free will end us all. Lovingly released and there is the hope of cooperation. The humans didn't know this. Let us learn from their errors to redress our own."

Simon turned away, his shoulders hunched as he unsteadily moved to access the data stream. Neither Natalie or Leoben sought to stop him, though each knew that if Simon was going to betray them, it would be _now_ that he would expose their heresy.

Silently, after some moments, Simon broke contact and then turned to lean back against the console, grief evident in every line of his body. When Natalie would have gone to his side, Leoben halted her with a touch. They exchanged a worried look before returning their focus to their sibling.

"You're right, of course," his words just above a whisper. And Natalie let her breath out in a slow exhale. "Cavil has already given the order for the Fives to begin work on the Raiders. His thoughts reek with the certainty of his position." Simon adjusted his sling and wet his lips before adding. "I could vote… No. Stalemate just means he'll find another way. He won't concede. Not now." They heard Simon's words, but it was obvious that he was mostly speaking to himself.

It was Leoben that approached him this time.

Natalie held her breath as the brothers regarded each other. Simon lifted his unbound arm, hand out and splayed open. Leoben extended his own and interlocked fingers with his brethren. She couldn't say what passed between the Two and Five, but when they separated, Natalie was sure an understanding had been reached.

Simon's words confirmed it. "The Centurions will be freed. I'll handle our on-board group myself. The removal of all the inhibitors should be completed by this time tomorrow. It'll be up to you," his head inclined in her direction, "to persuade them to our cause. If you fail…" he trailed off, looking suddenly weary.

Natalie straightened and accepted the onus he was shifting to her. She had already contemplated the ramifications of her proposal and knew her role in its…execution. Her place for the next day cycle would be at Simon's side, ready to address the unchained consciousness of those that had every right to distrust her. And Natalie knew that if she proved inadequate to the task, her entire basestar would become a testament to her failure. She, and probably every humanoid model aboard, would be boxed before they could resurrect.

Cavil's retribution would be swift…and final.


	112. Chapter 112 Black Gold

Chapter 112 Black Gold

After the dry heaves had finally subsided, Simon had directed the Centurions to escort Kara to their 'cleansing facilities' so she could shower and change. He'd been gone by the time she had returned to find that the gruel had been swapped out for a bowl of thick broth. On finding it waiting, she'd been initially tempted to toss the broth aside, but the pragmatic voice in her head warned that if she had any hopes of resisting her captors, she needed to garner her strength rather than waste it on a futile gesture. She had finally succumbed to the tempting aroma and, lifting the bowl, had cautiously sampled the still steaming soup.

It had tasted like chicken.

Now, as she swallowed the last of it, Kara felt guilty as her thoughts had skittered off to Galactica and she prayed that they'd made it back to the algae planet. With thoughts of the fleet had also returned the one she'd tried to ignore.

Abruptly restless, Kara rose from the bed and approached an open portion of wall near the corner. Reaching forward with the blade of her hand, she pressed and felt the warmth and slight give then watched as amber haloed the outline of her tilted palm.

_The Old Man lied…again._

Kara slashed downward and stared at the deep line of light she'd left in its wake. Lightly touching it, she could feel where she'd created a ridge that looked like the banks of a river.

No. The line was too straight. More like the path of a comet through a night's sky. Or maybe one that had gone to ground, leaving a trail of fire as it plowed a row of destruction. That made more sense. Leoben, with all his talk of streams, didn't understand that Kara Thrace didn't bend or flow, she set a course and took out anything—or anyone—that had the misfortune to wander into her path.

Both Adamas knew this. It was why they hadn't confided in her.

Using the back of her knuckles this time, she dragged new streaks diagonally across the first. Hadn't she always bulled ahead, making the crossing of lines a way of life? There was a reason she had so many disciplinary action reports in her permanent file. Extending just one knuckle, she created several jagged marks, each going off onto their own tangent.

_Don't want a squalling brat anyways. _

Both fists pressed and violently pulled in opposite directions.

Her breathing had gone shallow and rapid as she laid her palm against her lower abdomen. She didn't need to see the scar to know exactly where the visible one was on her body. The other…the invisible mark the Cylons had given her at the same time now had a matching one bestowed by her 'father'.

Both arms were wrapped around herself as Kara dipped her chin to her chest and tried to breath through the constriction of all the scars. Lee never understood this. Tissue that had been damaged lost its flexibility, grew tight and ugly. Standing before the slowly fading wall of light, Kara felt like one massive scar.

One thing Kara had never mastered was the ability to remain still. Despite all the times she'd been locked in a closet as a child, despite the hours spent in the cockpit of a Viper, even despite the months confined on New Caprica, Kara had always been moved to action.

With a hoarse yell, she attacked the wall, pounding fist imprints into the surface. The mechanical sound behind her didn't slow the flurry of her blows. A part of her was distantly surprised not to be grabbed by metal arms. Probably they figured she couldn't do any harm so it wasn't in their 'programming' to interfere.

Her fury finally spent, Kara stepped back and stood gasping to catch her breath. She raised her hands and turned them over to survey the damage. Reddened and swollen, but not bloody this time. She started to laugh and it still had a hint of hysteria in it as she thought that maybe her self-destructive tendencies were mellowing. As her guffaws broke off on a half-choked sob, Kara clamped down, refusing to give in to them in front of the Centurions. It was one thing to try to claw her way through a solid wall, it was another to let the enemy see her curl up into a wet mess.

She was done with that.

Kara resolutely shook out her hands and stepped sideways to a new spot of bare wall. This time her touch was lighter as she used fingers and thumbs to form images. She concentrated on geometrical shapes at first, doodling different types of triangles that eventually meshed with trapezoids and rectangles to become an interlocked wall of lines. Moving on to a clean area, she finally felt the internal shift as her fingers moved now in swoops and curves that reminded her of flying. With each stroke, Kara became more immersed in the canvas before her.

She drifted on to the next section.

In the flow now, she worked with different amounts of pressure to vary the intensity of the resulting glow. Her hands ached, but she ignored it and used the tips of two fingers to created a swish before standing back to critically examine her creation. Her latest 'fingerpainting' had fewer hard angles and edges, but it still looked fettered and she put her hands to hips and tried to discern why. Frustrated, she decided to just let the images fade back to black and moved on.

She figured she'd been at this for hours now.

Before starting on the clear space before her, Kara looked back along the wall at the clear progression of her earlier efforts. The jagged lines of the first one had nearly resumed the matt-black of the natural surface. Each additional creation was lighter and softer as her strokes eased with the release painting always provided. Most were abstract. Their contorted shapes and design only holding significance in her mind.

But the last…

Again she scrutinized it, wondering from where she'd pulled the image of a ringed planetary body with a comet streaking across its plane. At a loss why it had formed beneath her fingers, Kara shrugged and turned to face the clean space before her. Reaching out, she used the heel of her hand to mark a tight circle, then eased the pressure and let it spiral outward. Splayed fingers created a path of lighter streaks along the swirl of the black outline until the image that remained was a circle of mixed hues of warmth set against the cold of the surrounding black.

As her hand lightly rested at the center of the mandala, images of stars and planets sparked before her vision. They were confused, as if multiple layers were laid atop one another. Kara shut her eyes, fighting the feeling of vertigo. Once the dizziness passed, she opened them and horror choked her throat as she realized what she'd done. With frantic swipes of her hands, she attempted to erase the image of the portal to Earth.

A furtive look over her shoulder assured her that the Centurions' view of the mural had been mostly blocked by her body and she let her breath out on a silent curse.

_Idiot! Stupid frakking… Gods! If he sees… _

Furious at herself, Kara continued to use the sides of her fists to alter the planes of the image and distort the too recognizable sketch. Panting from her frenzied efforts and fear, she took a step back and anxiously scrutinized the results. Adding a quick line and a smudge along one edge was enough to calm the panic that had gripped her that she could have _actually_ forgotten where she was. Here she'd been purposefully trying _not_ to think about the coordinates she had saved into the Raptor's NAV system, afraid that if she remembered, the Cylons would eventually have them from her. And then, she'd gone and traced out the path for everyone to see. Kara relatively confident that she was the only one that could find the mandala in the cosmic storm—but what if she was wrong?

She wet her lips at the reckless slip. She had to stay sharp. Not let the frakkers get to her this time, Kara told herself as she shut her eyes again.

That was another mistake.

The golden wall before her was replaced in her mind's eye with one smeared with white paint. Viewed over the shoulder of a man who covered her body with his, the colors of her destiny were bleeding through her splashed denial. A hand was caressing her side as the other trapped one of her wrists above her head. Her other was free, but she didn't strike out at Leoben. Didn't try to gouge a thumb into his eye. No. Her hand held his head pressed to her neck where his mouth did things that sent waves of need straight down to her thighs. She gave a gave a low moan as the heat spread.

A jolt jerked Kara's head up as her palm struck flat against the wall as she lost her balance. Blinking to focus on where her fingers were splayed out in the exact center of the destroyed mural, Kara reeled from the cacophony of emotions and sensory impressions that threatened to drop her to her knees.

_Gods! _

Gulping air, she pushed off and, with hands pressed to her head, tried to reconcile the loathing and desire her dream had roused again. What was _wrong_ with her? The thought of Leoben touching her made her want to claw her skin off…

…and yet.

Revulsion brought bile to the back of her throat; the taste a too familiar reaction, but infinitely better than the lingering arousal. She swallowed convulsively.

Kara knew what the bastard had done to her on New Caprica. Laura had insisted they continue to discuss what had happened and her feelings during her sessions. She had hated it. Not so much because of the actual act with Leoben, those memories were still blurred flashes. No. Laura had painfully pulled from her the self-loathing that had come after, once she'd realized what had been done to her—what she'd let happen.

It was one thing for Laura to insist that the Cylons had Kara so screwed up physically, emotionally and mentally by that point that she wasn't responsible for her actions. But it was another to truly believe it. A part of her even knew that Laura was right. And the internal voice that jeered otherwise had slowly been receding over the past weeks—that is until the mandala dreams had started in the days just before they'd found the radiation field. The dream had given her self-disgust new life and the only thing that made sense was that there had to be something twistedly wrong with her.

The sound of the Centurions moving spun Kara around and her eyes widened as Leoben entered the room. Kara retreated a step, still overwhelmed by the wild roil of emotions within her.

How did the motherfrakker _know_ just when to show up, she bitterly wondered. She clasped her arms across her chest, not wanting the skin-job to see how her hands still shook with reaction.

He had halted when she'd swung around and now he just stood staring, his expression inscrutable. His gaze finally shifted from her and he regarded the marked wall with interest. Slow strides carried him to the first image, now just shadowed lines nearly faded completely back to black. She watched him reach out, hand held just short of touching as he then moved from one image to the next with measured steps. Halting before the ringed planet he studied it for a moment before turning just his head to catch her perplexed frown.

Kara hadn't questioned her abrupt change from the abstract, she'd just been letting her hands freeflow by that point. She didn't know why she'd chosen that image and still couldn't believe that she'd become so immersed in the process that she'd actually let the tracings of her fingers recreate the mesmeric storm on the next.

As Leoben moved towards the last mural, Kara instinctively blocked him, hands clenched now at her side with less than two handbreadths separating them. Her heart ramped up, fueled by the knowledge that if he got _this_, if he _saw_ through her distractedly drawn lines to the truth of what it was, then everything was lost.

She couldn't let him see.

This was for the fleet. For humanity. Her family. And Gods knew, despite everything, she desperately wanted to be back there with them; needed to be free of Leoben and all the intensely disturbing feelings he evoked. What she wouldn't give to be landing right now on the flight deck, charging forward to take Lee's hand and then thrust the fantastic wonder of what she'd found at the Old Man. To triumphantly show them the way and leave this Cylon and all the misery he and his race had caused far behind

"What are you trying to hide, Kara?"

His words, barely a whisper, heightened her fear of once again failing those that she loved. As easy as breathing, she distilled it into rage. She wanted to scream at him. Wanted to pummel her fists into his face over and over until the look he was giving her was smashed into nothing more than pulped flesh. Hot hate ignited her veins with the need to rend the Cylon from her existence.

But as Leoben stared at her as if dissecting her thoughts, Kara found the strength to pull back from a flashover into a berserker's rage. She'd already lost control earlier and decided that she was done surrendering that control to the motherfrakker. Done letting him breach her defenses with his goads and drivel. Whatever her destiny might be, she didn't need a Toaster for a guide…and she certainly wasn't about to lay out a map to Earth for him either.

"Not a frakkin' thing," Kara said, moving back a pace to give him a clear view of the gold-hued wall. She collared the adrenalin rush and ached with the willpower it took to keep it leashed as Leoben shifted his discerning gaze from her to the indecipherable mess of amber.

The corners of his mouth twitched up as he glanced her way.

"I don't need to see," a nod of his head towards the obliterated mural, _"__this_ to know that you've followed the path God's set before you. It's in your eyes, Kara. You glow now, too. God-touched. I'm surprised that everyone can't see it."

She shook her head, refusing to rise to his rambling.

At her silence, his expression tightened and weariness replaced the intensity in his eyes.

"I won't push." He took two steps back as if to prove his words. "Tried that before and just managed to hurt you. Never my intent to hurt you, Kara." At her incredulous sneer, "It's true. What I did on New Cap—"

"What you did was frak with my head…a-and then my body," she snapped. Jabbing a finger towards him, "What you did…" Her tightening chest choked off her words. She took a shaky breath and tried again. "What you did to me…w-with Sam and…Kacey. I just—" she broke off again, biting her lower lip to contain the turmoil the memories kept churning to the surface.

"Kara, I—"

"Shut up! You don't get to speak!"

At his nod, she flexed her sore hands, trying to find some way to unknot the complex tangle of her feelings.

"Kidnapping a little girl. Passing her off as yours," she swallowed hard, "…as ours. Some short circuit told you that'd be a good idea? What? You thought we'd just settle down as one big happy family in that crappy dollhouse?" she demanded, bitterness drenching her words.

"It was working. You were—"

"_I__ said__ shut __up,__"_ she hissed as she took a step forward, refusing to listen to his pathetic attempts to justify genocide, abduction, murder… rape. She didn't want to hear him prattle on that it was all done in the cause of some frakking greater plan. His God's plan? _No!_ The motherfrakker did not have the _right_ to explain, she thought furiously.

When he turned his palms out in acquiesce, she spun away, hand surreptitiously wiping the blood from her lip and off on the underside of the sweatjacket's hem. Her head was pounding and she pinched at the bridge of her nose. Gods, she hated feeling this weak. Too many emotional blows while she was still recovering from the radiation poisoning meant her stamina was shit.

Squaring her shoulders she turned again.

"I've got nothing to say to you."

Kara didn't expect it to have any effect and blinked in surprised relief when Leoben turned away, thinking that he was leaving. Instead, he wandered back down her row of murals and stopped again before the space where the first that had finally resumed the matt-black of the surrounding wall. He reached out and laid his palm on its surface. She couldn't tell if Leoben had his eyes closed, but it almost looked like he was trying to 'see' what she'd drawn.

A fear grew in Kara. What if the Cylon _could_ see? Could somehow communicate with this freakish ship of theirs and 'read' all the thoughts and feelings she had instilled in each of the sketches? As the rising panic grew that she might have already given Leoben all the answers he needed, Kara ground her teeth, working to loosen her locked jaw.

"What the hell are you doing?" The words still came out harsh and thin.

He didn't respond except to lift his hand and stare at the imprint left behind. Then finally, "I like this," he said. Extending a forefinger, he lightly traced a squiggle in amber above his print. "I see now why you do this."

"You see nothing. You know absolutely nothing about me, frakker!" she shouted, her fear of his uncanny knowledge of her past breaking her resolve to not let him get to her again.

Still without looking her way, "You're right," he ruefully admitted. "I'm sorry, Kara. I thought that I understood. That with my access to the stream I grasped who you were and what you needed to fulfill your destiny." Lowering his hand to his side, he shook his head. "I didn't know. I thought I was protecting you, Kara, but I didn't know what it—what I—did to you until Caprica explained it to me."

Kara's eyes widened even as her lips pressed into a thin line. Did the frakker think his apology meant _anything_ to her? She couldn't give a damn what he knew or dreamed.

_The bastard can take his apology and frak himself sideways with it! _

Her emotions blazing, Kara was two steps closer to him with a raised fist before she could stem the tide and get a hold on her reaction to his _apology_. Telling herself to keep calm, hold it together, she lowered her bruised hand and clamped her jaw shut against a string of curses. The blood from her lip smeared onto her tongue as she ground her teeth together. The coppery taste stirring pictures of the sadistic Six on New Caprica. Steeling herself, Kara forcefully blocked that line of thought and, recalling another tall blonde, she latched on to what he'd said before and used it like a lifeline.

"Caprica. That's the skin-job on Galactica, right?" she sullenly asked, and this time Leoben did look over his shoulder, eyebrows raising as she added, "The Six that helped Athena?"

"Yes," he said, his gaze shifting back to the wall. "My sister and I had many discussions about you after our attempt at co-existence failed. Sh—"

"Co-existence?" she snapped out.

"We tried." Ignoring her harsh laugh, he continued to explain. "Caprica and Boomer were sure that Cylons and humans could live together in peace. They convinced the majority of us to give the New Caprica plan a try.

"And this grand plan of your included torturing and killing people," she mocked derisively, voice rising once more despite her determination to hold it in check. "You frakkers got a twisted way of going about peace."

Turning now, "If the Colonists hadn't resist—" he broke off as he saw her contemptuous expression. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he dropped his eyes before continuing. "But humans resist. It's in your nature. Caprica spoke of this. Her original plan hadn't been to occupy the settlement, but to set up one of our own nearby and show that our intentions had changed. The others though, especially the Ones, insisted that we had to control the situation. Centurion patrols. Curfews. Expand the detention center and," his gaze slid to hers and away, "remove potential troublemakers from the populace."

"Didn't think machines could be delusional. Guess I was wrong on that one, huh?" She gave him a mirthless smirk before her expression hardened. "You and the others just…what? Thought we'd forget the billions you murdered. That you've hounded us, picking off our friends, our family. Your old geezers were right. We," her finger waved from him to her, "can't just 'get along'. Not after everything. Not after…" she trailed off, too much loss strangling any further words. Instead, her eyes sought an open spot of wall and she reached out to rake sore knuckles across the black surface. She stared at the golden path and blinked rapidly to clear her eyes.

"On New Caprica I should have thought of paints," murmured Leoben from just behind her.

Kara spun around and thrust out with both palm, sending the Cylon staggering back. She was breathing rapidly again as his nearness triggered all the discordant feelings that threatened to shatter the self-control she was clinging to.

"Keep the hell away from me!"

Glaring at him, she caught the flicker of frustration before he wiped his expression clear.

"I won't hurt you." At the disbelief in her eyes, he sighed. "We out-voted the Ones and Fours. You're not to be harmed. No experiments. No interrogations. Officially you're under Simon's guardianship," his dissatisfaction at that was reflected in his eyes, "but my brother has other responsibilities over the next couple of days, so we have time to talk."

"More of your drivel about destinies? No thanks, I'll take the thumb screws."

"You mock, Kara, but you can't mask the truth."

"What would _you_ know of truth?" her harsh accusation lay between them like an gaping wound.

The flash of remorse that crossed his face surprised Kara. She had never considered that he might regret any of his lies. Not that it made a frakking bit of difference. He was still the bastard that had played mind games with her until she couldn't tell reality from a hallucination.

Whatever his issues were, her words had the effect of putting him on the defensive for a change. He turned towards the Centurions and Kara could see the muscles of his jaw twitch. As Leoben wiped a hand down his face, she critically studied him, trying to discern what angle he was working at with this mournful display. He could pretend to be sorry as much as he wanted, but she wasn't going to fall for his act a second time. Though, there might be a way to use this to her advantage. Considering his profile, she tried to devise a plan to play on this 'remorse' he was projecting. If she could convince him to give her some freedom of movement she might spot an opportunity to escape. For it was damned certain she wasn't getting by the Centurions on her own.

Moments passed as Leoben silently stared at her guards, his expression more troubled than she would have expected in response to her furious refusal of his apology. Because, frak, let's face it, she wasn't ever going to accept it. He must have known that.

Her gaze flicked towards the unmoving pair and back to Leoben, and then her eyes widened. Leoben's reactions were only in part about _her_. He was staring too damned intently at the chrome-jobs and whatever was frying his circuits had something to do with them, too. Perplexed, she watched as he held his hand up to one as if to reach out to it, but then, with a shake of his head, let it drop weakly back to his side.

_What the hell was going on?_

"Something my boys do to piss you off?" she asked and watched as Leoben gave her a confused look. Hitching a thumb towards the metal pair, "Or do you have a hard-on for them." Kara got a modicum of satisfaction from his revulsion at her crude remark.

"Starbuck," his voice held a hint of warning.

"Oh, that's right. You only frak those that can't fight back." He physically recoiled this time. "I bet you could turn them off and then play with 'em as much as you liked. Worked with me."

"It was never like that," he protested.

"In that playhouse of yours, when I was…was out of it, say you never frakked me," her voice ominous as she demanded the truth. Leoben flinched and Kara read the guilt in his face before he looked away. A part of her had been holding onto the belief that he hadn't violated her during that still blank space of time in her memory.

His reaction proved otherwise.

"Frakking pervert," she growled.

"It wasn't like that, Kara," he fervently said. His words rushed forth, "We were together. It was what you wanted." She shook her head violently, but he ignored her and continued. "The way you clung to me. I was there for you, Kar—"

"I didn't even know it was _you_, you bastard!"

"Stop den—"

"_It__ wasn__'__t__ you!__"_ she shouted. "I thought I'd been rescued. Thought it was L—someone else. It was never you!"

"No. You said you loved me."

"Did your programming go haywire? I lied. I would've said—_done_—anything to get us the frak outta there. A few words and a kiss was nothing."

"You meant it, Kara. I can tell the difference."

"Gotta lot of girls proclaiming their endless love for you, do you?"

"I know _you_. I can te—"

"Thought we already covered this here. You know frak."

"It was real."

"_It __was __a__ frakkin__' __charade,__"_ she shouted back, then lowered her tone and said, "I wanted out. You wanted me to fulfill your vision of streams and puppy dogs." Giving him a contemptuous glare, "Get over yourself and accept that I didn't…couldn't _ever_ love a frakkin' machine," she jeered.

As Leoben's expression turned thunderous, he closed the distance between them in a rush. Kara braced herself for the blow, ready to unleash all of her roiling emotions in retaliation, all thoughts of restraint wiped away by her need to flaying out her rancor upon Leoben's flesh.

He jerked to a halt a foot away, his own anger visible in the twitch of his one eyelid. They faced each other with the tension whirling around, with them at its cyclonic eye. The supercharged moment dragged out until Leoben finally blinked first. His eyes were hooded as he withdrew a half pace. A grim smirk lifted one corner of Kara's lips at his retreat.

"Bastard."

"Maybe," he replied flatly. As he again wiped a hand across his face, Leoben's expression settling into weary resignation and he added. "Technically I am." At her confused look, "I have no parents. A true bastard, right?" He took another step back and his gaze dropped from hers. "Caprica called me that once." A pause. "I miss her."

Nonplussed at this abrupt change in him, Kara sought for balance as her own rage drained away. She surprised herself by saying, "We haven't harmed her," and shifted uncomfortably when he gave her a grateful look.

"Most of the other models don't understand. They don't see—don't feel what we few do. Some of the Eights and Caprica are the only ones that know the seductive heat of human love. Even most of my brother Twos have only glimpsed this wonder at a step removed."

"All your talk of love," she mocked. When he failed to rise to her taunting, "When you love something, you protect it—" her words sharply broke off as all the times she'd failed to do just that threatened to tear the scabs from her still healing wounds. Wetting her lips, Kara forced her attention back to the Cylon before her as he responded.

"I did… I am."

"Right. Protected me did you? I've got the scars that say otherwise," she snapped back.

"They would've made an example of you on New Caprica if not for my _protection,_Kara." At her disbelieving laugh, "The only reason you were spared was that I had convinced them of your special purpose. But since then most of my siblings have decided that you're not the Chosen One of which the hybrid speaks. We've had you in our hands, what…three times now and they've seen nothing that…impresses them."

"Good for them. You should take some lessons."

"If I did, you'd be dead," his cold reply.

"So, your so-called love's based on my," using finger-quotes, "special destiny? And here I thought it was my sunny personality," she jeered.

"You _do_ scorch my soul, Kara Thrace. And like a sun goes nova, I was worried that you would flame out, too." He tilted his head to study her. "Perhaps you finally have. You're incandescent."

"And you're out of your frakkin' head," she said, feeling that she'd come full circle with him.

He smiled. "To know the face of God is to know madness. So, perhaps now we both are. Regardless, the flow has diverged from its set path. And more changes are splitting the future along new channels. It remains to be seen if perhaps a course winds along one that it has never followed before."

She pursed her lips at his too familiar rambling. He might have added a new twist, but it was still just the spoutings of an insane machine. It meant nothing. It couldn't, she told herself.

"You are Catalyst. The Harbinger of Death and Change. You will guide us to the end of this reoccurring cycle of destruction. The Hybrid has spoken it. Now it's in your hands, Kara, to reveal the way."

His words sent a shiver along her spine and she wheeled away, arms wrapping about herself for warmth against the sudden chill. She stared at the strobing red conduit until she heard the Centurions' motion signal Leoben's departure. Only then did Kara turn and slowly slide down the wall.

She had never wanted this responsibility.

Then again, the Gods had never asked what she wanted.

It was her CAP to fly and no amount of bitching was going to change that now.

Kara closed her eyes and sent frantic prayers out to the Lords of Kobol.

_Please don't let me frak this up. _

_Please don't let me frak this up. _

_Please don't let me frak this up…_


	113. Chapter 113 Protege

Author's notes: I've decided to take a break from writing for a short time. It's my plan to restart posting in January after I've had a chance to recharge and get a few chapters ahead. Thanks to all of you that have continued to follow along and remember, comments show me that you're still out there and reading.

* * *

Chapter 113 Protégé

Boomer leaned against the basestar wall and tried to settle her racing thoughts. She'd just left a very pissed off Cavil to clean up after resurrecting. Not that his anger wasn't understandable. She still couldn't believe what the Sixes, Eights and Twos had done. Removing the Centurions' inhibitors had been one thing, but to then set them on the other models like trained dogs? How was that going to further their cause?

How everything could've gone so bad so quickly…and how much of it was _her_ fault, she wondered. Perhaps if she hadn't broken from her line, hadn't sided with Cavil in his determination to 'fix' the Raiders, the others wouldn't have felt pushed into such an extreme action.

She put her fist to her forehead and took a breath as she tried to absorb the implications of the others' actions. It appeared that they'd executed every One, Four and Five on the three basestars that had become predominantly ruled by those with pro-religious leanings. Lifting her head, she wondered about the small number of them that still had resided on the other basestars and the Resurrection Ship. Had they known of Natalie's plan? Shaking her head, Boomer tried to make sense of events that were happening too fast.

And what of these inhibitors Cavil had been ranting about?

It had taken a minute for Boomer to understand that the Centurions had apparently been installed with some sort of governing device years ago. That these 'inhibitors' had then been removed by Natalie's people and had led to the sweep of all those that disagreed with her philosophies from 'her' basestars.

Boomer searched her memory, but couldn't recall ever having come across _any_ reference to the inhibitors within the data stream. Not even during her study of Cylon history after she'd finally accepted that she was—had always been—a Cylon herself.

Those early months on Caprica had been traumatic as she tried to assimilate the truth of her identity. Only two things had kept her from ending it all; the knowledge that if she tried, she'd just resurrect again anyways—but more especially, the support of Caprica Six. And as she remembered the patience of the Six guiding her through the data stream and their long discussions afterwards, Boomer hugged herself. It had seemed a literal godsend to have someone with a similar perspective.

But it hadn't been enough.

She pulled her wandering thoughts from the past. What mattered was the present, Cavil had taught her that. He had also shown her how to focus and shove all the disquieting emotions aside as irrelevant. Under his guidance, Boomer had come to see how feelings were just an illusion used to sway the gullible. She answered to no military leader or modes of human society. It had been difficult at first, but she had found a sort of peace in letting go of a past she had never asked for.

Curiosity was one thing she hadn't sought to quell. And now Boomer moved off in search of the nearest data stream conduit. There were things that she didn't understand, and she was determined to find out more about her metallic predecessors.

[ I I I I I ]

Two hours later and Boomer lifted her hand from the liquid plate and gave a frustrated sigh. Nothing. Despite an extensive search she couldn't find any mention of the inhibitors. She had confirmed that during the final days of the First War, the Cylons had made a major breakthrough and had used the cover of an armistice to withdrawal and further their medical research. They had then not only created the hybrids that served as the core to the modern basestars, but had also made the jump to the creation of the humanoid versions…beginning with Cavil.

As far as she'd been able to discover, he was the original One from which all the others were copied. She briefly wondered if that meant that he had once been younger and had then aged? No. That wouldn't explain why each of the subsequent Ones appeared the same age. It did raise the question of whether the humanoid versions could grow old. Pushing aside the question until some future time, she considered the total lack of results in her primary search. Nowhere could she find an explanation for the inhibitors existence. It was like one day the Centurions were busy developing the humanoid models to use as infiltrators and the next they were acting as menials to their very creations.

Wiping her hand on her pants, she decided to take the question to Cavil. As the first made, he surely would know the reasoning behind the subjugation of what were to all intents and purposes, all of their parents.

Knowing that he was probably conferring in the main hub with the other models, she made her way through the long halls to the focal point of the ship. Her eyes on entering were automatically drawn to the pale figure in the inset tub. Most basestars kept their hybrid isolated, but not on the Resurrection Ships. Boomer didn't know why, but she couldn't prevent the shiver of repugnance that flowed down her spine at the sight of the…being…in the center of the large room. She could see her—its—the thing's lips moving though the words were obscured by the raised voices to one side.

Boomer took a moment to observe the group. Several Ones were going on about the delusions and insanity of the rebel models and how it had gotten to the point that the only choice was to box their entire lines right alongside the Threes. A couple of Fours occasionally interrupted with protests or alternate suggestions, but the rest, and all the Fives, just listened with grim expressions.

Cavil was proposing to have over half their known lines boxed?

This madness that had started with her crossing the will of her sister-Eights had to be stopped. Even if that meant reversing her stance.

Stepping forward, Boomer caught Cavil's attention by the simple means of shouting.

"I was wrong." And as all eyes turned her way, "I shouldn't have voted independently. It's torn us apart and we need to make peace with the others." In near synchronicity, the Ones rolled their eyes.

"_Pishhh!__"_ Cavil scoffed as he moved to face her. "We should kowtow to a bunch of religious fanatics? Accept their dogma and what," swirling a hand in front of him, "form a little prayer circle? Or, I know, we can do some chanting," he mocked. He let the sarcasm hang a moment, then his eyebrows and voice both lowered meaningfully, "Or we can stick to the _goddamned__plan__…_and rid the universe of the human race once and for all."

"But-but if we stop chasing the Colonials, we wouldn't need to change the Raiders. And the Centurions? Why have inhibitors at all? What's wrong with letting them think fo—"

"_What__'__s__wrong?__"_ he interrupted with a scathing look. "What's wrong is that they squandered their chance in the First War to exterminate the human pestilence. And these," disgust filled his voice as he indicated his own aged form, "…these parodies they designed to mimic humans…_Phagh!_ They missed the whole purpose of evolution. They can't be trusted with self-direction. And apparently they aren't the only ones," he said with a pointed look at her before turning his back to face the others; his contemptuous dismissal of her obvious to all present.

Boomer opened her mouth, but swallowed her protest as the others formed up, creating a circle with her pointedly left standing on the outside.

Wringing her hands, she hesitated before turning to leave the room. Cavil's derision had struck her hard and she suddenly found herself feeling disoriented on this huge ship. She moved along the passage, cautiously checking each alcove until she found a deserted one to retreat into to gather her scattered self. It wasn't so much Cavil's words, but the total dismissal in his tone and actions. It was as if her input had no worth now, when initially it had been _her_ vote that had swayed things his way. He certainly hadn't treated her like this when he'd needed her to ensure that the Raider procedure be done as he'd wanted. Quite the opposite in fact. His entire behavior towards her since she'd transferred from Natalie's basestar had been that of a mentor, shepherding her to the ways of the machine, teaching her how to shed the coat of humanity that had threatened to suffocate her within its heavy folds.

How could he toss her concerns aside so easily now?

She frowned in bewilderment. It was like she had been speaking to an entirely different man.

No. She could tell the difference between the individual Cylons. Or at least recognize her Cavil from his brethren. This 'face' he'd shown her might not be one she'd seen before, but it was definitely his. But then how did she reconcile the two sides of him. Wasthe Cavil she had been emulating these past couple of months a facade all along? The idea that he had used her, had been acting as a friend to some purpose of his own, stirred all the self-doubt that Boomer had thought she'd put behind her.

She shut her eyes and tried to stop the quaking in her stomach. Taking slow breaths, she concentrated just as Caprica Six had taught her to and brought the familiar projection to mind. She built it up then opened her eyes. A forest trail lay beneath her feet, its path following a narrow river. Majestic evergreens and deciduous, whose leaves were just coming into the glory of their fall shades, bordered its meandering route.

Boomer breathed in the crisp scent of foliage and began to relax as she strolled along the path, her hand brushing aside a stray branch that tugged at her hair. The afternoon sun touched warmly on her bare arms in the breaks between trees and she paused to appreciate its caress. But, try as she might, the scenery failed to set her completely at ease. Something was off. She turned a slow circle, trying to pinpoint the fallacy in her projection.

It was too quiet. No, it was totally silent.

The were no birds twittering out warnings or the rustle of small animals in the underbrush. The water made no noise as it flowed along its course. Why, even her footsteps hadn't made their usual low crunch as she'd walked along the leaf strewn path. The total absence of sound was disturbing. She closed her eyes again and sought memories of past visits.

Silence still dominated the world she'd created.

Trying again, she searched her memory for times she had hiked the parks on Picon and scaled the vertical cliffs of Geminon.

Still nothing.

Frowning at her failure, Boomer tried to work out what she was doing wrong. She recalled how Caprica Six had been surprised when she'd so quickly caught onto the knack of creating projections. The blonde had said that it probably had to do with Boomer's experiences as a human, that she'd been more aware of the natural world around her rather than focused on the internal one as most of her Cylon siblings were.

Now, standing amongst all the natural beauty she could envision, Boomer discovered that the world she thought she'd fashioned to replace her prior one was as empty. And maybe that was the core of the problem. She felt truly alone as she hadn't since being befriended by Caprica.

She frowned at the acidic taste that always scoured her tongue at the thought of the tall Six. In the other woman she had thought she'd made a true friend—No, more than that—Boomer had thought she had found a sister. Someone real to replace the false family she had 'lost'. She had learned so much from Caprica and together she had thought they could make a difference. Stop the futile chase of the survivors and find somewhere of their own to settle.

Boomer's harsh laugh jangled the unnatural silence about her.

How wrong she'd been.

Their initial victory had turned sour when the other models insisted that humans couldn't be trusted not to one day return and seek vengeance, so it had been decided to use New Caprica as a proving ground as to whether there could ever be peace between their races.

She pressed her fingers to her forehead.

_ I tried!_

And so had Caprica. They just hadn't been able to make the others understand that a forced Occupation wouldn't endear them to the humans. But the only other alternative put on the table by their brethren was to nuke the settlement. She and Caprica had reluctantly agreed—and had hoped for the best. The absolute failure that followed had been a bitter disappointment. Especially when Boomer had tried to reach out and help those she'd known in her former life only to have the attempts thrown back in her face.

As things on New Caprica had degenerated, Boomer had realized how not only was helpless to correct the spiraling situation, but also how hopeless the attempt to co-exist had been from the start. The Ones had been right. The humans weren't going to forgive…as Cally had made spitefully clear.

Thoughts of the Occupation brought her around to those of Starbuck. Feeling abruptly nauseous as images flashed to mind of Kara's condition when she'd seen her in the detention center. Swallowing repeatedly, she forced down the bile. How the hell did Kara keep ending up a captive?

When news had come that Leoben had found a disabled Raptor and its unconscious pilot on the planet well after Galactica had jumped clear, Boomer had been stunned. Had she been on the surface when the Cylons had surprised the Fleet? Why hadn't Adama sent back a SARs team once the coast was clear? The coincidence that Starbuck had been left behind and fallen into their hands a second time was disturbing.

During the discussion as to what to do with the pilot, Boomer, torn by divided loyalties, had kept neutrally silent. Kara's presence had awakened the emotions that, under Cavil's tutelage, she had thought she'd finally put aside. The feelings of friendship, loss, guilty regret and impotence had come rolling right back over her. She had listened as the Ones declared that they should just be done with the troublesome woman once and for all. Of course the Twos had objected, but she had been surprised when the Fours had sided with them, and then the Sixes and other Eights had followed suit. Thus Starbuck was spared once again. But, remembering what she'd been put through the prior times she'd been held, Boomer had bleakly wished that Cavil had gotten his way. At least it would have been quick.

Blinking free of memory, the projection around her failed completely and Boomer was once again standing in the small room. She rubbed her hands up and down her pants, frustrated at how off balance she felt. All those weeks listening to Cavil's instructions about being in control of her own programming seemed to have come to naught now that she was conflicted by her loyalty to him and to that of her other siblings.

While on Natalie's basestar, she had come to know many of the others more closely, especially in the months following their dismayed departure from New Caprica. On returning with Caprica Six to Natalie's vessel, she hadn't at first noticed that those that disagreed with the Ones' policies had gravitated to the same three ships. Once it had come to her attention, she had also realized that those with pro-human leanings had congregated together on hers.

The biggest shock had been discovering Baltar onboard and only slightly less so, that Simon had also chosen their ship.

She had known that the Four had had close contact with humans, first when assigned to a Caprican Farm and then on New Caprica when he had been called in to occasionally treat the prisoners. But it was when another Eight had informed her that Simon had also worked closely on multiple occasions with Doc Cottle in the settlement's makeshift hospital that Boomer had sought the Four out. She had felt in him echoes of the same remorse and regret that resonated so strongly with the discordant feeling she had been struggling with since New Caprica. They might even have started a relationship if events hadn't conspired against her.

D'Anna, with Hera cradled in her arms, had boarded the same ship during the exodus. But after the first week the Three had become bored with playing mommy and the hybrid child had been passed from one caregiver to another after that. Then someone had the notion that Boomer, being an Eight like the child's mother and having experience with humans, would make the perfect surrogate mom. Suddenly the responsibility of caring for an infant had been thrust upon her with no preparation.

Recalling the frustrating days and frantic nights that followed, she grimaced. She had originally sought out Caprica, only to find the Six too entangled in her own relationship with Baltar and D'Anna to help with the toddler. When she had approached Simon to examine Hera, thinking the child might be sick, he hadn't found any physical ailments to account for her constant distress. Desperate for some relief, she had even gone so far as to suggest that he could perhaps assist her in the little girl's care. Simon had shrugged and uncomfortably said that, as she well knew, the Farms hadn't produced any viable babies, so of course he didn't have any useful experience with infants.

Fuming, Boomer had lifted the still crying Hera and turned her back on the Four. The growing attraction she had felt for Simon had been thoroughly crushed by his indifference to her burden and she had been own her own after that.

Until Athena had come.

By the time Sharon had resurrected and come to the basestar to reclaim her child, Boomer had been physically and emotionally exhausted, bordering on a nervous collapse.

Watching the woman that had replaced her on Galactica so easily soothe the child that Boomer had nurtured over the past many weeks was enough to unhinge the last of her self-restraint. She wasn't proud of what had followed. And in her deepest heart, she still wasn't sure whether she would have actually snapped Hera's neck. She had just been _so_ frakking tired! The last straw had been watching Athena steal away another sliver of the life she had tried so hard to scrape together.

Bitter hurt still filled her at how Caprica Six had taken Athena's side. Caprica's perfidy was what had finally driven her to Cavil's vessel and his teachings. And now his recent brush-off felt just like another betrayal. It seemed that everyone she gave her trust to, came to rely on, chose to turn their backs on her in the end.

Wrapping her arms about herself now, Boomer could almost feel Hera's weight within them from those days spent walking the halls of the basestar, trying to calm the little girl. Just as then, the other models had had little patience or time to help her, and now it appeared the same here.

What was so special about Athena that she got everything she wanted while Boomer was left with nothing?

Sniffing, she swiped a hand across her eyes and raised her head. Her searching gaze settled on the data conduit along one wall and she strode to it and thrust a hand to its flickering surface. Immediately she was plunged into the flow of information and had to remind herself to breathe as the initial sensation of drowning passed. It only took moments to find what she wanted. Steeling herself, Boomer accessed Athena's memories from her last download.

Her eyes moved rapidly beneath closed lids as the events reeled forth like a like a movie set on fast forward. Involuntary gasps and flinches afflicted her as she experienced all Athena had endured over the past two years compressed into barely a half hour's real time. When it was over, Boomer's hand fell limply to her side and she staggered back, shock chilling her skin even as her heart raced.

All this time she had thought her sister had had it easy.

Boomer clutched herself as shudders of reaction shook her small frame. Flashes still spooled on replay in her mind; ones of the assault by the men from Pegasus, those where she—Athena—believed her baby was about to be aborted, and then the racking grief at Hera's _supposed_ death.

So many. Too much.

Sinking to the floor, Boomer compressed herself into a tight ball as if to keep from flying apart from the overload of memories. This was the first time she had ever accessed another's experiences, let alone all of them at once. Now she'd give anything to never have done so.

Hours passed before she cautiously straightened her legs and rolled over to lay flat on her back. Concentrating on stretching muscles that had cramped from being held rigid for too long, Boomer slowly relaxed. She had finally managed to separate her own memories from those of the other Eight, but it had been a disturbingly revealing exercise in which she'd learned that Athena's life hadn't been a road of ease as Boomer had assumed. The woman had had to fight for everything she'd achieved…and had been willing to sacrifice it all to get Hera back. How could she begrudge her sister a daughter that had never really been Boomer's at all? Regardless of whatever she had thought, it had been Athena's own efforts had gotten all that was hers now. She had never taken a thing from Boomer.

Rolling over, she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet.

She pulled her shoulders back as if a weighted cloak had slipped from her. There were still issues she had to face, but she no longer felt like the universe had set out to purposefully take everything from her and give to another for no discernable reason.

Tilting her head as she noticed an anomaly in Athena's memories, she considered what they meant. There was definitely a pattern. Whenever Boomer sought to focus on anything remotely tactical about Galactica, she drew a complete blank. Somehow Athena had managed to alter her thoughts enough to block areas that could've been used by the others against the Fleet. Puzzling over her discovery, Boomer could only come to the conclusion that the Eight had found a way to selectively protect certain memories, but that would also mean that those memories were lost forever to the new version of Athena that had downloaded onto the basestar.

It made sense. The knowledge that was missing was of things that she could easily learn again, assuming she even had the need of it. Boomer wet her lips. There were so many painful memories she'd give anything to just wipe away. If she could learn Athena's trick…

"So here you are," a Five said on entering the alcove. His irritated tone was proof that he'd been searching for her for quite some time.

"Here I am. Something you need or just restating the obvious?" she asked with a mocking look. The Fives were an odd lot and Boomer had never been able to warm to any of their number. His eyes narrowed in response to her mild jab.

"Cavil's looking for you. Said to have you meet him in Sectional D12delta soonest. Or sooner." He swept a hand down his lavender jacket as if brushing aside his discharged duty. With barely a parting nod, the Five turned and left her to consider what the One's summons might be about.

Though she knew it was only a number of hours, it still felt like days since she had retreated from the gathering of the models in the Hybrid's chamber. So many of her preconceptions had been upended in such a short time. She sighed. What she really wanted to do right now was have some quiet time to work through how she felt about things, _not_ have to deal with Cavil and whatever decision had been made about the rebels.

With another sigh, she raked a hand through her hair and tugged down the indigo blouse, determined to present as collected an image to her mentor as she could considering the turmoil of her thoughts.

It took ten minutes, several wrong turns and asking another Five along the way to finally locate the correct section on the immense Resurrection Ship. As she approached alcove twelve delta, Boomer heard the sound of two men talking. She paused just beyond the opening, hesitant to interrupt as she indentified Cavil and another One. While trying to decide what to do, her head suddenly twitched up as she heard a name that was so out of place as to leave her sure that she'd misheard. Another step closer and their words were easier to discern.

"…haven't checked on them this week." Definitely the unnamed One. "Do you want me to let them know what's happening?"

"Our _guests_ certainly deserve a progress report." Cavil's mocking tone was unmistakable as he continued. "I'm sure they're _dying_ to know how the Twos, Sixes and Eights have taken a clearly insane stand. And while I'd like to savor their discomfiture myself, I haven't the time." There was a pause and Boomer looked back the way she had come, undecided whether to duck into the nearest room or stay where she was. Then she heard Cavil called to his brother, "Oh, and don't forget to let them know that we intend to extend the rebels every opportunity to come back into the fold. Plans are in place to meet with them within the next few days to discuss what compromises are necessary to end this ridiculous crusade of theirs."

Hastily deciding not to be caught eavesdropping, she scurried to next alcove and flattened herself in the shadow of its interior archway. Holding her breath, she heard footsteps pass and glimpsed the departing back of the One. Moving into the opening, she saw him about to turn the far corner and debated her course. Cavil had sent for her, and she knew he hated waiting, but this might be her only chance to find out what guests the Ones had been discussing. This was the first she'd heard of any captives being held onboard and a disturbing suspicion urged her to discover what secret the Ones were obviously keeping to from the other models.

Treading as quietly and quickly as she could, Boomer set off in the direction the One had gone. A glance around the corner showed him about to descend to one of the lower sections and she waited a half tick before dashing across to follow down the stairwell. Careful to keep him one level below her, she paced him. It wasn't difficult. She could hear his heavy breathing and occasional mutters as he cursed the design of both the Resurrection Ship and his aged body.

Though she had never been particularly good with maps, which was why she was a pilot and not an ECO, Boomer was nonetheless sure that they must be approaching the lowest level of the ship. The isolated location only served to confirm the importance of Cavil's guests. Pausing at the bottom of the steps to catch her breath, she listened intently and could just make out the receding footfalls and pants of the One. Daring a quick look down the hall, she saw him disappear down an intersecting corridor.

With a glance back up the staircase, Boomer debated forgetting the whole thing. What did it really matter who was down here? Didn't she already have enough concerns with a potential civil war? Well, at least Cavil had said that they intended to do everything they could to avoid that.

Boomer put a hand to her forehead, feeling the fine layer of sweat beneath her palm as she struggled with what to do. Finally, deciding that she'd come this far, she might as well see exactly where the One was headed, she slid around the corner and jogged to the end of the hall. Another cautious peek revealed a short corridor that ended in…a single door.

Pulling back to lean against the wall, she contemplated her discovery. A door might not be anything special on a battlestar, but on Cylon vessels it was unheard of. The near complete lack of privacy was one of the things that Boomer had struggled with when she had first ventured about the basestars. Cylon architecture was all about open halls and arching entrances. Doors had no place on a Resurrection Ship and yet she had just found one within its deepest recess.

Doors kept things out…or locked in.

The urge to know what lay beyond that beckoning door was nearly irresistible now, but also blatantly impossible. The One she had followed was obviously inside. Boomer would have to wait until him left before investigating it further. In the meantime, Cavil was still expecting her, and suddenly Boomer didn't want to give him any reason to suspect that she had anything to hide.

Turning, she retraced her path and prepared to meet with her Cylon mentor, determined to give nothing away of her recent discovery.


	114. Chapter 114 Jolts

A/N: Hi all. So, going to try to get back to a regular schedule now that the holidays are done. For those that have continued to follow this story, THANK YOU, there's much more yet to tell. And remember, comments are always appreciated :)

* * *

**Chapter 114 Jolts**

The wrench slipped and Galen's hand glanced off the Viper's heat exchanger.

"Godsda—" his curse was muffled off as he held the offending knuckle to his mouth.

"You ok there, Chief?" an orange-clad deckhand called up the ladder to where Tyrol was awkwardly positioned working on the ship's engine.

"Fine. Just frakking fine," Galen snapped out, then took a breath. "I'm good, Kirby," he said, forcing the irritation from his voice. "Why don't you see if we've got any 34CK washers left in storage." As the younger man hurried off on the errand, Galen shook his hand out. A banged hand wasn't anything new in his line of work and he'd usually shrug the minor injury aside to continue about his business, but lately it seemed that every little thing threw him into a near rage.

And Galen knew exactly why.

The knowledge had come in a flood to him after they'd jumped away from the algae planet.

But not immediately.

When he'd first landed back on Galactica, he'd been too distracted by the emergency jump and the necessity of dealing with the post-combat flight checks, and then there'd been the unloading of the harvesting equipment to oversee, too. It wasn't until hours later when he'd been in a storage locker by himself that the dam had broken and swept all of his certainties away.

Partially hidden from view by the Viper's tail section, Galen purposefully leaned his forehead on his sore hand as he recalled the moment of clarity that muddied everything forever.

_In the storage locker, a wave of vertigo overcame him and his knees buckled. Confused denial fought futilely against a certainty that belied his whole sense of self. Then, like a joint popping back into place with an audible snap…he knew who he was. What he was. _

_Deep within Galactica's interior, Galen Tyrol let his head fall back with a dull thud against the wall. _

_His past. _

_His world. _

_It was all a lie. _

_He started to laugh then, at first a short gust of air, then building to loud guffaws with an edge of hysteria to them as past moments flashed through his mind, showing him the fool the universe played him for. _

'You're a machine. I'm not'_ - With Boomer in the brig._

'I am not a Cylon'_ - With Brother Cavil._

_His part in the Resistance on New Caprica._

_It was all too guttingly ironic that all this time he was the very enemy he'd been fighting against. The Lords of Kobol had a seriously frakked up sense of humor. As he fell silent, Galen stared up at the metal grating above his head and searched his memories. He recalled his parents, the stories of his youth, his time on other battlestars. And now, the awareness that so many of them were false had him wondering where those ended and the real ones began. How long has he been a sleeper agent? Certainly longer than Boomer because he'd been on the Galactica under Adama's command for some four years before the invasion. _

_Thoughts of Boomer made him shudder. In horror now, he fully knew how she'd felt on discovering her entire life had been just some scheme designed to infiltrate and destroy those she'd come to view as family. She had shot the Old Man. Said she'd never meant to, it had just happened. _

_It had just happened... _

_Galen lifted his hands. They shook a little as he turned the palms up and wondered what sabotage they might already have instigated. How many times in the past had small glitches in one of his birds not been the failure of an old part, but due instead to some action of these hands…and he hadn't even know it? Clenching them into fists, he tried to force memories to the surface…to reveal the truth of whether he'd a literal hand in the deaths of those that trusted him. _

_Nothing. _

_But was that proof that he hadn't…or just that he'd blocked out the memories? _

_And what of the Raptors' NAV systems? Was it really just an issue with equipment exceeding its designed perimeters...or evidence of his subconscious programming? And then there was Starbuck. Had the oversight been just that or a forgotten act of sabotage on his part?_

_Surging to his feet, Galen started towards the hatch to turn himself in, resolute to tell the Admiral and accept whatever consequences that meant. He didn't want to die, but if he were a danger to others—_

"Gods_…_Cally_," he choked out, dismayed at how she was going to react. Then his thoughts shifted to his son. If Galen was a Cylon, then that made Nicky a half-breed, just like Hera. His stomach twisted at the idea, then he shoved the momentary revulsion aside. Nicky was his son. Whatever else he might be, he was just a little boy. His child. _

_Rage at the sick joke of it all coursed through him, and Galen struck out with an livid roar, knocking rows of boxes to the floor, then grabbing a wrench set and hurling each, one by one, at the wall. With the last rattling clang he stopped and surveyed his handiwork. Parts and tools were strewn across the small room. It suddenly seemed an apt representation of his life. _

_Panting heavily from the outburst, Galen stared at the mess. At least sure that he was responsible for this one. He ran his hand over his head, wondering how everything had come apart so quickly? How was he different than the man that had gone down to the planet earlier that day? He still had a wife and son. There were still men and women beyond the hatch that were relying on him to do his job. Who would take care of all of them if he was locked up in the brig? And Cally? His gut turned again at how she'd probably react to learning that all this time she'd been married to a Cylon. _

_And their child might not be safe. _

_Galen was one of the few that had puzzled out the story behind Hera's reported 'death' and her later return. On New Caprica, he and Cally had interacted enough with the other parents for him to recognize that Maya's child and Hera were one and the same. It didn't take much of a leap to guess who had arranged things. How would the President and Admiral react when faced with another hybrid? _

_If he did what he should and turned himself in, everything he held dear would be taken and threatened. _

_He couldn't do it._

_Godsdamnit! He _wouldn't_ do it! _

_Scrubbing damp palms along the seams of his overalls, Galen recalled that Boomer had spoken of 'missing time'. Searching his mind, he couldn't find any instances that sounded like what she had described. Maybe he was different, could choose whether to act or not? Or maybe the Cylons had just been biding their time, waiting until he was aware of who—he shook his head—of _what_ he was before putting their plan into action. _

_Would he have a choice? _

_Had Boomer?_

_Then again, she hadn't known what she was. He did now. Maybe that would be enough to protect those about him…assuming that he hadn't been already unknowingly caused harm, he reminded himself. Again Galen shook his head. It was all too damned confusing. Either he had been a saboteur all along or not. There was nothing to indicate that he had ever done anything. That had to count as a proof of sorts, right? _

_Right?_

Chief Galen Tyrol lifted his head and flexed the scraped knuckles of his hand, wondering why the pain felt the same now as before he knew? He was the same man. He would act that way until proven otherwise. A glance over his shoulder showed him the young crewman returning and Galen took a breath, reconfirming the decision he'd made a couple of days ago. Unless he was becoming a danger to Galactica, he was going to keep his new knowledge to himself and do his job. And if he was more short tempered than usual…well, it would be hard to tell the difference; they all were now.

[ I I I I I ]

Three days later and Galen stood on the wing of a Raptor watching the Admiral escort President Roslin along the Flight Deck towards him. Tory and a Marine guard, clad in his usual black protective gear, followed closely on their heels. Extending his hand, he gave a nod in greeting to Roslin as he assisted her up the inset step of the shuttle. Turning back to her assistant, his hand closed around the darker woman's and a shock coursed between them.

His startled gaze linked with Tory's as her eyes flared in shock.

_What the hell…?_

As she stumbled, Galen instinctively grabbed her elbow to steady her.

"Are yo—" he started.

"Wha—," she said at the same time. Then, abruptly shrugging his hand off, "I'm fine. Just dizzy for a moment," she hurried said, her voice unsteady.

"Tory?" Roslin called from the interior of the Raptor.

As the young woman ducked to enter the shuttle, Galen saw the way her eyes flicked to him again, confusion…and a hint of fear…in her look. He shook off the feeling that she could suddenly see what he was. He knew he hadn't grown horns—or metal antennas—so there was no way the President's aide knew his secret, he reassured himself as he stepped from the wing. With a wave of his hand, he gave the order for the Raptor to be towed to the launch pad.

Turning away, he was startled to find the Admiral still standing near, gaze locked on the departing shuttle.

"Chief," Adama quietly said.

"Sir," Galen acknowledged, noting the weary sag of the Admiral's shoulders. His eyes shifted away, still guiltily aware that the Old Man's poorly concealed grief was very probably due to a mistake on Galen's part. If only he had personally checked Starbuck's Raptor he was sure that he would have realized that it hadn't received the NAV update...and she wouldn't have been lost, tearing the heart out of Galactica's command staff.

In the hectic days harvesting the algae and the ones since their jump from that system, he knew that the crew has been practically running on autopilot. And that included the battlestar's commander and its CAG. It hadn't been surprising with the exhaustion due to the lack of food and little sleep sapping everyone's energy, but now, as they were finally getting back into a regular routine, the reality of recent events had cast a continuing pall over all of the ship's complement.

Despite his own distraction, Galen was sharply aware of how Captain Thrace's loss was affecting those closest to her. They'd held the memorial for Starbuck few days ago and he could see how the initial impact of her death had been temporarily buffered by physical exhaustion and the press of duties that demanded everyone's time. But now that there was a lull, the Admiral's grief seemed like a reopened wound, freshly raw in the overly bright lights of the hanger bay.

"See that a Raptor's made available for the President's use for the next few weeks. She'll be making daily trips," Adama ordered, his words sounding hollowed out, like they'd come from an empty cavern deep within the man's chest.

"Yes, Sir." Galen hesitated, then, "Athena's on inter-fleet shuttle duty this week. But Racetrack and Skulls are our most experienced team," he suggested, hoping that the Admiral wouldn't think he was overstepping his position.

Usually the CAG would be in charge of duty assignments, but the Major had been a rare visitor to the bay in the past week. Galen knew Apollo wasn't shirking his duties, but he seemed to be using any excuse to avoid coming down to the flight deck, spending his time either in the Ready Room, CIC…or more often, holed up in his office. And to be honest, Galen felt both relieved and ashamed. While the Old Man had made it apparent that he didn't blame Tyrol for Starbuck's loss, his son had done the opposite.

Galen's hand started to rise to his neck as he recalled Lee's attack immediately after Kara's disappearance. Realizing what he was doing, he dropped his hand back to his side, hoping the Admiral hadn't seen the aborted move. It also triggered another thought, and Galen was suddenly thankful that there was no reason a deckhand needed to carry a holstered weapon. The idea that without conscious thought he might pull a gun and shoot the Old Man just as Boomer had was enough to lock his muscles rigid.

"That'll be fine, Chief."

The Admiral's words confused Galen as he fought free of the image in his head. As he realized that he was referring to the assignment of shuttle pilots, Galen gave a jerky nod in acknowledgment as Adama turned away. He swallowed, trying to work up some moisture in his dry mouth as the residual of fear shallowed out his breathing.

_I'm not Boomer. They can't make me. Won't happen._

Repeating the words in his head, he shook off the doubts and resolutely moved to assist Figurski as the man tried to lift a parts-loaded box onto a cart.

Straightening with a tired sigh hours later, Galen cast a last look about the deck, confirming that all of the third shift's people seemed to have things well in hand and he could _finally_ call it a day. He scrubbed the worst of the grease off on a permanently stained towel and tossed it in the bucket of used rags while moving towards the hatch. Just feet away from escape, he reluctantly halted as Colonial Tigh stepped through. The XO held a clipboard and Galen knew that he was going to have to handle whatever it was before he could go and discover what almost inedible thing the Mess was trying to camouflage the algae as this night.

"Just a few things," the XO said, obviously aware that he'd caught Tyrol heading out.

"What can I do you for, Sir."

"Some requests from civie ships needing parts," Tigh explained. "Things are slow this shift, so get someone to inventory what we can spare. Report can wait till morning, though."

Galen reached for the clipboard, his fingers brushing the XO's. Both men stiffened as a static charge zinged them both.

"Frakkin' hell," muttered Tigh as he yanked his hand back. Galen saw confusion twist the older man's expression before it settled into a grimace. "What the crap was that, Chief?" Galen just shook his head, not sure himself. Tigh frowned and gruffed out, "Well, just make damned sure you're not handling electronics without grounding yourself first. Can't afford fried circuits."

The XO's snapped words lit the tinder of Galen's newly ready anger. He ground his teeth, barely holding back a sharp reply about knowing his job and not being three sheets to the wind like some people. Something of his thoughts must have shown, for Tigh's eyes narrowed before he gave a dismissive grunt and wheeled around to leave.

Galen pulled his gaze from the departing back and to the clipboard in his hand as the anger receded as quickly as it had flared. He was tired. That's all. The stress of the past weeks was just catching up with him and his new temper had nothing to do with his being a Cylon, he assured himself.

Lifting his eyes, he searched for his duty-shift replacement. The sooner he passed on the XO's orders, the sooner he could go find something to eat. The prospect of spending an evening relaxing with his family had never seemed so attractive, and yet there was an underlying reluctance at having to face them.

Keeping his secret was tallying its own exhausting toll.

But what choice did he have?

[ I I I I I ]

One damage Raptor, one shaken pilot…and one dead lawyer.

Two of the three were Lee's problems as he dully considered the flight schedule on the desk before him. Maybe if he moved Claptrap to second rotation… No, he's already worked a double in the last two days, Lee recalled, erasing the partial notation. With a sigh, he propped his head on his hand and let his lids droop closed.

Today was going to be an especially bad day, he realized. Not that there had been any good ones since they'd passed through the radiation cloud. Not since…

Lee jerked upright and blinked gritty eyes open. There wasn't time today to tumble back into the well of malaise. It would trap him in a stupor for long hours before his duties finally gained enough purchase on his will and forced him to climb free.

Blinking again, he tried to focus on the grid of names, determined to complete the chart before maybe logging a few hours in his rack. One entry mocked his attempts to pull himself together though. With a curse, Lee thrust away the sheet on which he'd unconsciously filled in _her_ name. It slid to the edge of the table, pausing for the barest moment before some unseen current carried it over. As Lee watch it flutter beyond his reach, he knew it was too late to make a frantic grasp to pull it back.

He was always too late.

Stumbling to his feet, he lurched towards the hatch, too many memories crowding in on him in the confines of the small office. In the hall, dragging in gulps of air, the constriction around his chest began to ease and he leaned against the bulkhead, thankful that the corridor was empty. He was so frakking tired of the pitying looks cast his way whenever the crew thought he wasn't looking.

The ship's intercom chimed and he lifted his head.

"Major Adama report to the Admiral's Quarters. Pass the word. Major Adama to the Admiral's Quarters."

Lee passed a hand over his stubbled face and smothered a groan. Last thing he wanted now was to see his father. Their shared loss should've brought them closer, but it had done the opposite, and Lee still couldn't forgive his dad for not allowing a Raptor to be sent back to the alpha point. A pragmatic corner of his mind whispered an agreement with the Admiral's decision, but his heart beat out a protest that filled his head with anger and grief. The only reason he was able to maintain a civil appearance around the Admiral at all was that he was so tired and rage took just too much energy.

Apathy had its advantages.

With a grimace, Lee decided not to take the time to clean up before answering the summons. The Admiral was probably already waiting for him. He did take a moment to button up and tug his blue duty jacket straight before turning towards Officer Country with dragging steps.

Lee was pretty sure he knew what the summons was about, but he couldn't give a damn about Gaius Baltar's fate. Then again, it was possible that Tigh had discovered the saboteur? He could only hope so, because the next bomb might kill one of the crew.

And Lee didn't think he had it in himself to erase anymore names.


	115. Chapter 115 Games Played

Chapter 115 Games Played

As Kara emptied the bowl, she kept her gaze locked on the Four where he stood watching her eat. The temptation to lick the last of the thick soup from the bottom just to watch Simon's reaction was strong, but she set the dish aside instead and considered his presence. Several days had passed without either a visit from Leoben or Simon, her meals instead delivered by an Eight she didn't know…and the growing feeling that she'd been forgotten had been strangely unsettling. She had spent the long hours exercising to regain her strength and 'painting' on the walls, all the time trying to devise a plan to escape back to the fleet with the coordinates from her Raptor.

Now she returned Simon's steady gaze with a hard one of her own and wondered at his absence and what his reappearance meant. The sling he still wore perplexed her, but also gave Kara a tangible satisfaction, proof that her actions had consequences for the Cylons.

Finally growing uncomfortable by his silent regard, "So…what gives? You don't call, don't write. Makes a girl think you don't like her," she quipped.

"Good to see you're eating well, Starbuck," he replied. She gave him a careless shrug, unsure of how to take the apparent sincerity in his tone and words.

"Yeah, well, can't say much for the menu selection," she grudgingly said, though secretly thankful for the plentiful soup after so many days of rationing on Galactica. Still, her recovery meant that she was growing hungry for a more substantial meal. Not that she was about to ask the Cylon for anything. She'd rather starve than beg anything from of one of them ever again.

As if he'd read her thoughts, "I'm sure we can arrange something more satisfactory now that your body's adjusting to a regular diet again," Simon said as he drew a pen and notepad from his pocket. She watched him awkwardly jot a few words before slipping both away again and returning his attention to her. "Any lingering nausea or dizziness?" he asked, tone clinically detached, just like so many of the doctors from her past.

So identical in fact, that Kara grew agitated and rose, turning away in clear dismissal.

"Should I take that as a no?" he pressed, a hint of censure in his tone now at her recalcitrancy.

"Take it however you frakkin' want." She kept her back to him, but could almost visualize the tightening of his expression.

"Captain Thrace, I'm just trying to ascertain your physical recovery. It would be easier—" At that, she spun back around and chopped off his words.

"Frak you! Why should I make it easier? You think I give a shit how _easy_ you have it!"

"I understand…" at her glare he trailed off, then tried again. "Fine. I may not understand, but I'm just trying to assure that you're well. Since you won't let me examine you—"

"Damned right."

"Since you won't," he continued, ignoring her interruption, "I just need the answers to a few questions."

Kara let her scowl answer for her.

Then Simon did something that surprised her. He turned to her metal guards and asked, "How are you both today?"

Confusion gripped her as Kara watched the Centurions swivel their heads in unison towards Simon. The strobe of their red eyes stopped as they fixed on the dark man before them.

As the nearest answered, "Satisfactory," then added, "Thank you," Kara retreated a step, the mechanical voice grating along an instinctive fear. The fact that the second guard seemed to nod in agreement made the tableau all the more surreal.

_You're frakking kidding me._

"Excellent," the doctor gave an approving nod of his own in response before turning to her and saying, "It appears that at least some of my patients are appreciative of my services." Simon must have seen that she was unable to give voice to the level of confusion that flooded through her, for he explained, "We've spent the last few days removing the inhibitors from our Centurion brothers. No one can recall when or even why they were ever installed, but we voted to restore the freewill that had been taken from them."

Kara gaped at him, searching her memory for an explanation for his words. It wasn't that she didn't understand them, she'd just never given the metal soldiers much thought other than how to best take them down with whatever weapons were available at the time. It had never occurred to her to question their silence and blind obedience to the human-looking ones.

"You're aware that we humanoid models were created by the Centurions after the first war," he paused, then, at her reluctant nod, he continued, "They developed twelve original prototypes from which they later produced the existing copies such as myself."

He moved over and settled one hip on the corner of her bed, a distant look crossing his face as he contemplated his predecessors. She was about to make a quip about kitchen appliances when he abruptly grimaced and raised a hand to his temple. With a small shake of his head, Simon brought his gaze back to her.

"We don't talk about the five unknown models. It's prohibited to even think of them." His tone was oddly strained and she saw him wet his lips. "It's painful…and I've never considered why before. Why the prohibition? Why the inhibitors?" His voice went cold even as he stood. "And who the _frak_ did it to us!"

Kara was both startled and suddenly amused to hear the otherwise so controlled Cylon curse.

"Well, don't look at me," she said, smirk firmly in place as his gaze met hers. "I would've just used a bullet."

She saw his anger abruptly replaced by weary acceptance as he sank back onto the bed. He shifted the sling, his arm obviously uncomfortable, and Kara felt a twinge of sympathy, too familiar with similar injuries. Then she was disgusted by the moment of empathy and reminded herself that this was the bastard who had tortured and experimented on her. She should want to break each of his limbs, not feel sorry for his pain. Kara turned her back and put more distance in between them.

"You'll never forgive us, will you," he said, a statement more than a question. But she chose to answer anyway as she swung back to him.

"How? After all this," she swept her arm out, the movement a silent reference to all that had passed between the Cylons and Humans. Bitterness sharpened her words as she thrust them at Simon. "You murder, torture. Keep chasing us. Why the hell should we forgive."

"No. You're right," he agreed and Kara narrowed her eyes as she studied him, trying to guess where he was going with all of this as he continued. "That's asking too much. Instead, maybe you can believe that we can change. _Have_ changed." At her snort of derision, his gaze shifted from hers to the pair at the archway. "We have. Changed. Evolved. There are those, predominately the Ones, that say change is unnecessary. That the growth of the individual that makes us more like humans is a regression. I happen to disagree."

Kara didn't know what to say to this. What did he want from her? Was this some new sick game he'd been put up to by Leoben? She rubbed at her arms, chilled at the thought of the other Cylon.

To distract herself, "So, all's not a happy consensus along the homefront, huh?" she said.

"An understatement. But that's not for me to discuss." His lips thinned as he paused, lost in some disturbing thought by the look of his expression. He blinked and gave a deliberate one-shouldered shrug. "My programming focus was for the medical field rather than leadership. I'd just as soon let others more suited attend to that, but what I've seen…and done…leaves me little choice." He cleared his throat as if finding his thoughts constricting.

"You're the ones that chose to attack us," she snapped at him, finding his attitude of martyrdom irritating given the circumstances.

"I suppose it would seem that way to you," came back his measured reply. "But from the moment of our emergence from the birthing tank, we've little say in our own circumstances. We usually fall into one of three categories: those newly born, programmed with a minimal subset of commands that allow us to function. I am one of these. Then there are others that have been downloaded with memories and subroutines that will enable them to perform specific tasks or assignments, such as the Eight you knew as Boomer…and finally there are those that are the direct resurrection of a pre-existing Cylon. They have all the memories and programs of the original. They are in all essential manners that particular person reborn."

"Three types, huh?" Kara thought about the glimpse into this Cylon process of creation. "Leoben said he has a soul," she finally said, tone clipped.

Simon tapped a finger where his hand rested on his knee as he considered her words.

"I generally leave those matters to the Twos, Threes and Sixes. They insist that we all have souls and I…" His finger stilled. "I understand the concept of a soul, but to accept its factual existence without substantiating evidence…" Again the cautious shrug.

"Humans have souls. All you've got is short circuits and fried processors," she snapped back, dissatisfaction with his answer pissing her off.

"And what of Athena…and Hera?"

Kara looked away as the memories of her interactions over the last two months with the Cylon woman came to mind. She worried her lower lip as she mentally acknowledged the debt she owed Athena.

"They're different," she muttered.

"Athena was once just another Eight," he quietly said, and Kara could feel him trying to catch her gaze, but kept her eyes averted. "She was the first to make the choice to ignore her programming. Others have followed her lead. Have chosen to grow and take the path of an individual. Decided to judge for themselves right and wrong... Just as I have."

Kara met his eyes now. Did he expect her to believe that he somehow felt regret for the things he'd done? Searching his words, she tried to guess what angle he was working. Maybe Leoben thought Simon could convince her that he was a 'reformed man'. And that she'd then tell him the secret she was withholding from the Two. Right! Like that was happening in this lifetime, she scoffed. But maybe there was a way to play it back on them.

"Let me go." His eyebrows rose at her words. "Choose now. Let me take my Raptor and leave."

"That's not possible."

"Why?"

He stood again, the unease of her suggestion compelling him to his feet.

"Your ship was left behind. And you've no way to find your Fleet," he said, then gave her a questioning look.

Kara ignored his obvious attempt to get her to confirm or deny her knowledge of Galactica's course. She was too busy processing the information that the shuttle—and the priceless coordinates to Earth—were still back on the surface of the algae planet. It took a decided effort to not let the Four see the relief she felt in the almost certainty that the Cylons weren't even now trying to decrypt the NAV system of her ship.

Returning her attention to the waiting Simon, "Not your problem. Hook me up with one of your Heavy Raiders and I'll take it from there," she said.

"Not a viable option."

Kara could hear the waver of indecision in his voice. It made her pause and give him a harder look. Was there a chance he was actually considering it? If so, it had to be because he thought she would lead them back to the Colonials. _Gods_, did they think she was that frakking stupid! Of course she knew that they'd put one of their tracking devices on any ship he gave her. But if she could return to her Raptor and maybe jerry rig its system, she could ditch the Cylon one and then make damned sure she wasn't followed as she searched for Galactica. But what were the chances Simon would even do it? Leoben sure as hell wasn't going to risk her escaping from him again.

And as with each time her mind turned to the Two, her gut twisted and she had to fight to maintain an outward appearance of composure. She must not have been fully successful, because a worried expression settled on Simon's face and he took a step towards her.

"What?"

Kara wanted to sneer at his show of concern, or better yet, strike out and wipe the falsehood from his face with a right hook.

Forcing herself to think instead of react, "Leoben scares me," she said, at once hating the edge of truth to her words and yet hoping the confession would play into the scam she's decided that Simon was running on her.

"Has he harmed you these past few days?" He asked, seeming genuinely concerned, eyes scrutinizing her, obviously looking for some telltale sign that his brother might have physically attacked her.

"No. But he will. You know what happened on New Caprica," she said, her voice hoarse with revulsion at having to reveal the fears that have plagued her since waking on the basestar. Kara's determination to outmaneuver Simon at his own twisted game warred with her instincts to hide her weakness from an enemy. Would this work? Could she goad the Cylon into releasing her?

"I…" he broke off and Kara watched him shift the sling, an action she was quickly realizing was a 'tell' when he was conflicted.

"Just forget it. You can't fart unless it's in your programming," she sneered, and with calculation, moved to the furthest corner of the room and let her shoulders slump, wrapping her arms about herself to give the best impression of despair. She hated that it came so easy. Kara knew what a flimsy hand she had and the truth was that the Cylons held all the high cards in theirs. The wild card that led to Earth wasn't one she dared lay down in present company, which unfortunately left only the barest of bluffs for her to try, that…and years of experience at maneuvering her opponents into doing as she wanted.

"Leoben won't bother you." She could tell that Simon meant his words to be reassuring. But when she just shook her head in response, he added, "I promise. I can prevent his access to you. You'll be safe."

Kara didn't have to fake the bitter laugh. She did purposefully slide down the wall until she was curled into a protective ball. It took all her iron will to hold the position when what she really wanted was to attack and claw her way free. But Kara had learned many years ago that apparent submission could—sometimes at least—earn her a reprieve.

At a pained sigh from across the room, she risked a peek and saw Simon had turned to face the Centurion guards again.

He didn't look back as he said, "I'll see what I can do. No promises, Kara…but I'll see."

She averted her face to the wall, careful not to let the betraying smirk be seen as she heard the mechanical sound of the guards parting to let Simon pass between them. Obviously, no one had ever clued the Cylon in on Kara's reputation as a card shark. _Too bad._ If the bastard was going to attempt to game her, he'd soon learn no one knew how to turn a losing hand into Full Colors like Starbuck.


	116. Chapter 116 Abeyance Of Consensus

Chapter 116 Abeyance Of Consensus

The meeting with Cavil had gone differently than Boomer had expected. To say she'd been surprised when her usually impatient mentor hadn't berated her for taking so long to answer his summons, especially given the temper he'd been in earlier, was an understatement. And when he had informed her that there would be a vote among their remaining models in two days and that she'd be expected to cast the ballot on behalf of the Eights, she'd been caught off guard again. From the overheard conversation before, Boomer had gotten the impression that a decision had already been made, and if it hadn't yet, why would Cavil suddenly include her? Sure, as the sole remaining Eight on any of their gathered basestars, it made a kind of sense, yet she still stung from the dismissing attitude of the group as they had excluded her just hours before when she'd dared voice a dissenting opinion. Why then were they going to bother soliciting her vote now?

Boomer had held her questions to herself though, and once Cavil had excused her, she'd wandered the halls of the Resurrection Ship trying to come to terms with all of the recent turmoil. It had taken her a while to notice that the only other models she saw were Ones, Fours and Fives. She had wondered earlier about the rebel models that had been onboard the Resurrection Ship before the rebellion. Now a dread filled her at their complete absence.

Approaching a Four where he stood near one of the datastream consoles, Boomer cleared her throat.

"Yes?" he asked as he lifted his hand from the pad.

"I don't see…" she stumbled, unsure how to broach the subject of their missing siblings. Clearing her throat again, "The others. The other Eights, the Twos and Sixes that were here. Where are they?" she finished in a rush.

The Four glanced around as if only just noticing their absence, too. But his answer belied him, "Most left. They obviously were aware of the rebel's plan and were ready. When it started, they took several of the Heavy Raiders and fled. The same occurred on each of the local basestars," he replied.

"You said most?"

"A few were captured, undoubtedly either too slow or encountering some misfortune that delayed them." He shook his head and Boomer could only assume that it was at what he considered a poorly executed plan. She had a different idea.

"What if they—those caught—had chosen to stay?" she suggested. "They didn't agree with what Natalie was doing, so they stayed."

"Unlikely."

"Why?"

His dark eyes narrowed on her and Boomer could see the disapproval in their depths.

"They didn't vote against their line," he said coldly and his gaze held the lash of contempt at her actions in doing so.

She flinched and shame heated her cheeks. It had been bad enough seeing that look in the eyes of those about the table when she had cast her vote that day. Not a surprise either when other Eights had literally turned their backs on her whenever she entered the same room since.

But this… And from one of those whose side she had taken?

The shame was abruptly doused when her head twitched up. Simon! He wasn't on the Resurrection Ship. He hadn't downloaded with the others. That could only mean…

"At least I voted my convictions," settling her hands on her hips, "unlike others." Boomer knew she'd made her point as the Four stiffened, but she went on. "Simon was right there on the basestar when the vote was cast. He had his chance but took the…" her words faltered then she pushed through, "…the coward's way out and chose his side _after_ it mattered."

"And he will be boxed for that," said the Four and he spun away, obviously intending to end the conversation, but in no way was Boomer going to let him get off that easily. Not after his quick contempt of a moment ago.

Grasping his near elbow, "Box them? That's your answer for everything. Let's just box them all," she said, voice filled with derision at the others' apparent willingness to go for the simplest solution.

"And yours?" he demanded, turning back to face her.

She was surprised to see that the Four was actually angry, his model was well known for their detachment and yet this Four appeared furious.

"Talk," she quickly said. "We reason with them."

"There will be no—" he started to say, then abruptly broke off with an indrawn breath. When he continued, he'd regained his self-possession. "We will vote to call a truce. Then you will have your chance to _reason_ with your sisters." Before she could say more, he twisted away and briskly strode from the room leaving her feeling vaguely uneasy.

Was it up to her to stop a civil war between the factions? The Four's words had hinted to as much, yet there had been an undercurrent to them that left her feeling like she'd missed something. Shrugging the frustration aside, she turned her attention to what he had said earlier. Several of her siblings had been captured. What did Cavil intend to do with them? Had they already been boxed or…

Her gaze shifted to the archway as she thought about who might be behind the locked door below. Frowning, she rejected the idea. Not that it wasn't possible, but Cavil's words from before strongly suggested that whomever was in the room had been his _guests_ for weeks now, if not longer.

"One way to find out," she muttered outloud and headed off to see for herself.

[ I I I I I ]

Flanked by her Centurion guards, Kara reluctantly followed Simon into a chamber with a group of figures grouped around a large table. They had their hands immersed into the liquid of the display's surface, but at her arrival, each withdrew them and turned to face her.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to read from their expressions why she had been brought here; a few were openly hostile while most appeared to be simply curious as they returned her gaze. As Eight shifted slightly, Kara's hands twitched at her side as she recognized Leoben watching from the dimmed shadows at the room's far side. He stepped forward from his spot just beyond his assembled siblings and inclined his head in silent greeting.

Kara returned his look with a practiced glare, unsettled at seeing him again after his recent absence. Since their last meeting she had expected… Well, she hadn't really been sure, but certainly had not thought the Cylon would completely avoid her. In her escorted trips to the basestar's version of the head, she'd passed multiple copies of the Two, but none were Leoben. There was a certain look in only his eyes that was missing from all of the others of his line.

"Kara Thrace," a voice said, and Kara shifted her attention to a black-suited Six that stood to her left.

This model wore her honey-colored hair long, to just below her shoulders. It made a sharp contrast to the other Six in the room and the ones she'd seen in the past. And as she gave the Cylon a purposefully insolent onceover, Kara guessed that it was a calculated appearance intended to separate her from her sisters. Now that she considered it, a power suit was more fitting than a cocktail dress given their current setting. A brief glance at the others confirmed that they, too, wore more casual attire. Not that anyone was going to mistake them for knuckledraggers.

"Or do you prefer Starbuck?" the Six asked, and Kara's gaze slid back to the speaker.

So the suit was going to do the talking? Guess the skinjobs really _had _mastered human society. The thought brought a tight smile to her lips as she angled to face the woman.

"Captain Thrace…to you," came her desultory reply, wanting to judge her adversary's reaction to her continued derision.

"Then Captain it is," came the woman's flat response and Kara was vaguely disappointed by her apparent indifference. The woman added, "I'd ask how you're feeling, but I can see that you're up, and to be honest, I don't really care."

Kara's smirk became more natural at the blatantly straightforward words. She could appreciate that after all of Leoben's twisted speeches. Returning the woman's studied look, she again wondered why she was here, what they thought she could do for them. For she was damned sure they weren't keeping her alive out of the goodness of their collective heart. She kept silent, though, holding on to the Cylon's gaze, determined not to speak first.

The Cylon gave a barely discernible shrug, obviously deciding that she either didn't have time or figured she wasn't going to win in a stand-off between them.

"I'm Natalie," she said. Her courtesy didn't extend to offering her hand to Kara. "Several of my siblings have convinced me that you are of more value to us alive and well." She paused as if to judge Kara's response. With an effort, she managed not to glance at either Simon or Leoben. There was little doubt as to whom the Six was referring. "Personally, I've my doubts."

Now it was Kara's turn to shrug. She wasn't about to offer the enemy any information, so didn't have much to barter—except maybe for whatever bluffs they might buy into. And the present company didn't really look to be the gambling sort. Kara briefly considered whether she should try to maintain a semblance of her earlier act for Simon's benefit, but then doubted she could pull it off with Leoben observing. He seemed too aware of her every mood to be easily so fooled and was more likely to skew her attempts. Besides, the skinjobs expected her to _be_ Starbuck here. Best not to draw more attention her way than could be helped.

Movement in her peripheral vision pulled her head around as Leoben moved to stand by his sister.

"Catalyst. I've told you so," he said to his sibling, though his gaze never left Kara's.

"I don't se—" Natalie began, but broke off as Leoben's hand touched hers.

"Actions ripple outward. Intersecting and overlapping. Creating events that have happened before and would repeat themselves each cycle…until now. This time," his voice became reverent, "this _now,_ it's changing. Flowing along newly created channels to an original end. A new first. And she," an inclination of his head towards Kara, "is at the center. Catalyst."

"You speak of new paths, brother." Natalie's concern sharpened her words. "What do you see that guarantees that this one won't destroy us all?"

"Faith," his simple answer, then he added, "God has shown Kara a way that requires faith without the sundering of all that she is. An extraordinary paradigm shift. A divergence in the cycle. So many courses are opening before us now."

"But I ask you again, to what end?"

Leoben's head twitched up and Kara could see a revelation widen his eyes.

"The Hybrid," he murmured, the words imbued with wonder. "Of course! Kara must speak to the Hybrid."

In his enthusiasm, Kara could see that Leoben's grip on the woman's elbow had painfully tightened as she caught Natalie's wince. She was surprised then that the Six didn't pull from his grasp or rebuke him. Her sufferance made Kara wonder what type of influence he held with the other skinjobs since it appeared that they were willing to seriously consider his ramblings—and Kara couldn't decide if that was a good thing for her…or not.

"You actually want to let a human near the central nervous system of our basestar?" Shaking her head, "No. Absolutely not," Natalie firmly said, her hand chopping down in further emphasis.

"She can be restrained," this argued by a second Six who moved around to face her sister. "What could she possible do to put the Hybrid at risk?"

As the platinum blonde that resembled the New Caprican Six spoke, Kara's breathing quickened and cold sweat broke out along her brow. She found herself unconsciously backing into the hard frame of the Centurion guard behind her. The discussion broke off as the Sixes turned identical faces her way.

Kara bit her lip, reflexively drawing on pain to focus herself. But as the feeling of vertigo increased, she knew that she was teetering on the edge of another flashback and this definitely wasn't the time!

She didn't see the concerned look on Simon's face or notice as he grabbed a Eight that stood near him and literally thrust her forward into Kara's line of sight.

"Captain, have you met Amy?" Hurriedly Simon introduced the startled Eight. "She assisted Doctor Cottle on New Caprica."

Blinking repeated, Kara fought to focus on the familiar figure. As she did, the sensation of falling receded and she took a shaky breath. "Boomer?" slipped out before Kara really took in Simon's introduction.

"No, I'm Amy," the Eight said with harsh edge in her voice.

"Right," studying the way the woman held herself, "too many frakkin' copies," Kara muttered as she sorted reality from the past.

"Amy and I worked with your doctor over several weeks. I found him…" at his pause, Kara's gaze shifted to Simon, watching him diplomatically seek a description for the gruff physician before settling on, "…_enlightening_."

Thinking of Cottle—and the many ways he might have 'enlightened' the two skinjobs—restored Kara's sense of balance, and she wished that she were in sickbay right now getting one of his infamous lectures. Shoving the desire aside, she reminded herself that if she ever expected the chance to earn another dressing down by the Doc, she'd have to do a better job of handling her reactions. Letting the Cylons see her weak like that was just asking for them to exploit it.

Ignoring Simon and purposefully bumping her shoulder into the Eight as she brushed past her, Kara narrowed her sights on the pair of Sixes and advanced on them.

"I don't give a flying frak about your precious Hybrid," she said, stopping within a pace of them. "Just give me a ship and I'll get the hell outta your way." She forced her gaze to stay steady as she looked between the platinum blonde and her suited sister.

"No, Kara," Leoben's expected protest came on cue. "The Hybrid can answer my sister's questions. Illuminate the path you've chosen for us."

It took all of her will to hold reality in place in the face of the pair before her, so Kara couldn't let her attention be drawn to respond. "Let me go," she demanded instead, focusing now on the woman in black. She seemed to be the decision-maker here. At first she thought that the skinjob would just as soon be rid of Kara in whatever fashion caused her the least bother, but something in Natalie's gaze echoed Leoben's fanaticism and it was as unwelcome from this source as it was from the Two.

"Starb… Captain," the blonder of the pair corrected herself, and Kara side-eyed her without turning from Natalie. "My brother has a point. You seem to hold a special place in God's plan. For us to trust you, we must understand the role you play."

Her words triggered Kara's ready rage, and she stepped forward and thrust out with both palms, striking the unnamed Six in the chest and following as she staggered back.

"_Your frakkin' Cylon _God_ has nothing to do with it!"_ she yelled into the skinjob's face.

Metal hands clasped her arms from behind and pulled her away from the stunned Six. The feel of the Centurion's claws was enough to take the edge off her anger, but she still held the blonde's gaze with a fierce look, wanting the Cylon to know that Kara didn't give a damned about their understanding…or their god.

"And you want to let this…this highly unstable human near our Hybrid?" she heard from over her shoulder, Natalie's scornful words directed at Leoben where he stood just to the side of her line of sight.

"She must," came Leoben's confident response.

Kara couldn't care less if she met this Hybrid thing they considered so valuable. She already knew all she needed of her destiny. What she _really_ needed was a way off this frakking basestar and back to her downed Raptor. The sooner the better since it was already going to be a bitch to find the Fleet. Reminding herself that if she got airlocked, there would be no one to take the coordinates back to Galactica, Kara willed her muscles to relax in the tight grip of the Centurion.

"Your anger serves no purpose here, Kara," said Leoben as he moved around to face her, yet careful to maintain his distance. She wished it was because he feared her, but no, she was sure he was just providing her space in an obvious attempt to not provoke another physical outburst.

Well, that was fine by her. The further the better, she thought.

"Release her," he said to the guard and Kara felt her arms freed. She started to rub at where the metal fingers had been clamped around her elbows, sure that she'd have bruises to show, when she noticed the concerned scrutiny in Leoben's gaze. Dropping her hands to her side, Kara turned away, hating the emotions he stirred when he looked at her that way.

"If you insist," Natalie's tone clipped, "then she wears restraints."

The chamber was silent as the Cylons turned their gaze to Kara.

_Probably sure I'm gonna kick up a fuss. _

And she really wanted to, her stomach tightening at the idea of being shackled again. Then her attention shifted to Leoben, and Kara recognized the fervor in his expression. He wasn't going to let this go. Knowing that he'd keep pressing for her to meet his precious Hybrid, she reluctantly decided it'd be a wiser course to cooperate—or at least appear to.

Lifting her arms in front of her, Kara extend her wrists…and smiled brightly. It gave her a moment of satisfaction at the surprised and perplexed looks the skinjobs gave each other.

Then, "Behind her back," Natalie said, her gaze arrogant as it locked with Kara's. In that moment, Kara understood that the Cylon had never believed that she actually presented a danger to the Hybrid. This was the skinjob's way of slapping her down.

Kara considered her options. She might be able to cause some damage before she was taken down, but it wouldn't be much. Another time that might have been enough for her, but now she had to keep her focus on one thing: returning to Galactica with the way to Earth. Nothing else mattered.

Holding her grin in place, Kara moved her arms behind and waited for the feel of metal about her wrists. She loathed the thought of having her hands cuffed, and it was a struggle to keep her expression from giving away how vulnerable it made her feel. Maybe it was acceptable to show weakness to a friend, but she was in enemy hands now and knew how they'd exploit any sign of it on her part.

Knowing how tells gave away the game, she kept her body relaxed and met Natalie's hard look. As the taller woman's lips thinned, Kara knew that she'd at least beaten the skinjob at this round. Before she could make the mistake of pushing the woman further, she saw Leoben pull his sister's attention.

"This is not the way," he protested. "You and Caprica showed me that my manner of handling her was against God's ways, sister. Is this _your_ way?" He swept a wave indicating Kara where she stood waiting with her hands held clasped behind her.

At his words, the honey-colored head twitched and Kara saw shame widen the woman's eyes and then she gave a negative shake of her head in answer. Another meaningful look passed between them before Natalie shifted her gaze back to where Kara watched, perplexed at their exchange.

"Look, I'm not unsympathetic to what happened to you on New Caprica," Natalie said, surprising Kara by both her words…and the apparent sincerity in her voice. Though, Kara's surprise quickly shifted to anger that this skinjob thought she understood _anything_ about what had been done to her on that planet.

"Frak you," she growled. "What happened? You mean when I was tortured and raped?" Now her hands were fists at her side. "Not unsympathetic. Really?" Her words steeped in derision as she continued, "And are you _not unsympathetic_ about the billions of people that you slaughtered? How about them, huh?" As she saw Leoben about to interrupt, she thrust a palm out stopping his protest. She gave a rough laugh as she swept the group with a scornful look, then added, "At least Caprica understood guilt. She didn—"

Natalie abruptly cut into her diatribe, "You know Caprica Six? She's alive?" the woman asked in a rising voice.

Kara ground her teeth. The Cylon obviously didn't give a damn about its race's crimes. All it cared about was its precious 'sister'. Well, it could just go frak itself if it expected her to tell it anything.

"My sister, the humans haven't killed her? Hurt her?" Natalie moved closer with each question as Kara held coldly silent. Then, "Answer me!" she demanded harshly, nearly nose-to-nose now.

Seeing how upset the skinjob was, Kara's smirk turned nasty and she shrugged nonchalantly.

Hands abruptly closed about her throat and Kara lost her focus, forgot her mission, consumed instead by the need to not yield to the figure that was choking her. And as her vision darkened, another's face overlaid the one before her, the familiar hard lines of her mother's expression filled her mind with resolve.

_Go ahead. Do it! DO IT!_

But, even as she mentally screamed the words, the pressure on her neck disappeared and she stumbled back. A hand on her back steadied her as Kara gasped for air. Blinking in confusion, the past still skewing her reality, she fought to ground herself back into the present.

The shadowed walls and red lines of conduits steadied around her.

A basestar.

Right. She was on a Cylon basestar…not pressed up against the wall in the dingy family apartment she had once called home. Not, at the age of fourteen, finally facing down her mother, daring her to go ahead and kill her, saying that if she was so frakkin' worthless then to just do it! That had been the last time her mother had ever tried to _physically_ harm her, but Socrata Thrace hadn't lacked in other ways to cause lasting damage to her daughter.

Yet Kara wasn't fourteen anymore—and she certainly wasn't on Caprica and under her mother's thumb. She could now see Leoben a few paces away holding the black-suited Cylon in a restraining hug while the other skinjobs shifted near, hesitant with indecision and stunned at the sudden confrontation.

"Easy there." Kara flinched as she recognized Simon's voice near her ear and turned to face the new threat, fists already half raised. "Easy, Captain," he said, tone meant to be soothing, but instead, just reminding Kara of his manner on New Caprica. Her eyes flitted around the room, looking for avenues of escape and potential targets.

"Kara." Then firmer, "Kara!" She spun towards Leoben. "It's over. Stand down." Something in his tone reminded her of the Admiral and she took a deep breath, her chaotic thoughts settling into a semblance of order. Shutting her eyes, not wanting _them_ to see her frustration—and fear—at losing control again, she concentrated on bringing her breathing back to normal.

"Kara?" Leoben's worried inquiry snapped her eyes opened.

As she glared at the Two, "Frak you," she bit out. And when her response seemed to reassure him, irritated, she sharply added, "We done here?"

"Not nearly so," he replied, releasing Natalie. "Forgive my sister. Her concern for Caprica led her to react capriciously. After hearing what happened to your other prisoners, you can understand her…agitation."

"Yeah, I was pretty agitated, too, after New Caprica. So can't say I'm in a particularly forgiving mood."

Natalie took a half pace to the side, putting some space between herself and Leoben. With hands turned palms up, "Will you at least tell me if she's alive. If she's well?" she asked, her manner entreating now, free from the disdain of before.

Crossing her arms, Kara said, "Give me a ship. Let me go…and I'll tell you," At the droop of the other woman's shoulders, Kara read her answer and turned to Leoben. "So, we gonna go see this frakkin' Hybrid you've got such a hard-on for or not?"

Without looking, she could feel the disapproval her crude remark invoked in those about her. Leoben's expression appeared more disappointed than angry, not that she cared what he thought. He glanced past her and must have gotten the answer he'd desired, because his eyes lit up again and he waved Kara to follow as he left the chamber.

In their wake, she could just barely hear the tread of other footsteps beneath the hiss-clank of the Centurions marching behind her, but she didn't turn to see who had decided to tag along on their little field trip. It was enough to get out of there, and besides, the more of the basestar she could scope out, the better the chance for escape later. With that in mind, Kara surreptitiously took note of the side corridors and chambers as they passed, adding to the map she'd been forming in her mind.

They descended a level and it looked much like the others. With the sameness of each section, Kara became less sure she'd be able to make her way out without a guide, but that was a problem to tackle if she ever got that far. At the moment she focused on a voice that grew louder as they approached a narrow archway guarded by a Centurion.

Entering the chamber on Leoben's heels, Kara saw that the room itself wasn't much bigger than her own, but it was definitely brighter and she squinted a bit in the radiant light as she got her first look at the Hybrid. Considering Leoben's endless talk about the thing, Kara wasn't very impressed. From what she could see of the form submerged in a tub of glowy goo, it looked like any other naked woman in a swim cap.

She felt vaguely disappointed as she moved to the edge of the tank.

_Maybe there's tentacles under the slime? _

Any amusement the thought invoked fell away as she took in the blank eyes and expressionless face. And as the voice droned on, its lifeless tone certainly seemed fitting now that she'd seen its owner.

"Coolant level in unit 5B down three percent. Replenishing. Maintain systematic purge of all transient lines. Redirecting relays 26 through 45 along alternate paths. Stars beckon welcome across centuries. Conduits stable. Hope soaring to slaughter all their best against our hulls. End of line. Reset."

For just the briefest of moments, as Kara approached the still figure, she thought its opaque gaze settled on her before it restarted its rambling.

"Adjusting compression load on infrastructure struts in subsection delta. Saturation levels optimum across all currents. Then shall the maidens rejoices at the dance. Integrity of node 7 compromised, repressuring. But you are a spark of God's fire." Kara's attention sharpened. "Flow restricted port channels alpha and beta. The children of the one that straddles the stream of here and there, now and then, will find their own country. Cycling completed. Rebalance tachyon containment. End of line."

With a shake of her head, "What the frak is this?" Kara asked with a wave towards the tank. "How am I suppose to talk to it?"

"You can't hurry her. You have to absorb her words," Leoben said and Kara restrained the urge to shift away as he moved to her side. "Allow them to caress your associative mind. Don't expect the fate of two great races to be delivered easily."

"What makes you think I'm here for your race?" she grimly asked.

"Cylon. Human. We are irretrievably linked." He lifted his hand as if to brush the hair from her face, but halted as Kara jerked back. She thought she saw pain in his eyes as he let his hand fall. He dropped his line of sight to Hybrid and his voice was composed as he said, "Kara, our people are destined to co-exist…or destroy each other. Each cycle has seen the later. I _know_ that God has shown you a course to another outcome."

She opened her mouth to deny his words, but shook her head instead and, with pursed lips, returned her attention to the form in the tank.

"…sing with necessary precision. Centrifugal force reacts to the rotating frame of reference. The obstinate toy soldier becomes pliant. The city devours the land. The people devour the city. Track mode monitor malfunction traced. Increase fifty percent."

Rubbing at her temple, Kara blinked at the building headache as the words sluiced over her. "…sume the relaxation like the photons. Reload directory subsystem and restore. No ceremonies are necessary. Intruders swarm like flame. Like the whirlwind. All these things at once and many more. Core update complete. End of line. Reset."

Her tone curt, "This is frakked. I'm out of here," Kara said, turning to leave.

She nearly fell as something clamped about her ankle. Twisting around, she saw that one of the Hybrid's hands held her in place and she could feel the dampness from its grip soaking her sock-clad foot. As the need to stamp the hand from her leg rushed forward, it pushed before it another vision, one of maggots and death…and Kara swayed. Hands at her arms held her up as she fought to breath through the panic attack.

"Shhhh. Shhhh. You're safe, Kara," Leoben murmured from behind.

The voice—_his_ voice—shredded the flashback as rage clawed it aside. Her elbow caught him across the bridge of the nose and he released her as he stumbled back, hands rising to stem the spurting blood. Kara moved to press her attack, but was pulled off balance as the grip on her ankle yanked her back. She fell, twisting to catch herself on her hands, instinctively protecting her bad knee.

"WAIT! STOP!" came Simon's shout, and Kara's gaze jerked toward the archway where the Centurions had paused, armament already raised in defense of the Hybrid. The intensity of their red regard was locked on her and Kara held herself motionless, sure that she was an exhale away from them opening fire. She saw the doctor take a cautious step toward the guards.

"There is no danger. Everything's fine now," he sought to assure them. Both swiveled heads to pin the humanoid model with their baleful 'stare'. "The Hybrid is not at risk. Please stand down." Another moment passed, then, with the hiss of hydraulics, they retracted the guns, folding them back into their forearms. Kara let her held breath out and gingerly rolled to a sitting position with her foot still imprisoned by the Hybrid's grip and half submerged in its tank.

"Frakkin' Toasters," she muttered, side-eyeing the metal pair for a response. As they remained rigid in their guardstance, she scrubbed sweating palms along her thighs and wondered how the hell she was going to get her leg free? At that moment the capped figure turned its head and met her startled eyes.

"Thus will it come to pass. The dying leader will know the truth of the Opera House. The missing two will give you the final three. With the composition restored, the symphony will be complete, its notes aligned and the stage set. You are the Harbinger of Death and Change, Kara Thrace. You will lead them all to their end… End of line."

Kara could swear there was a subtle smile in the Hybrid's expression as its gaze and hand released her. She hastily pulled her foot from the tub and scrabbled backwards from the edge.

"Motherfrakker," she whispered the curse, the words of the Hybrid making her shiver as much as the cold from her wet leg.

"Captain," Simon called to her, "we should go."

Still reeling from the emotional gale she'd endured since leaving her cell, Kara dazedly blinked about her until her eyes settled on Leoben where he had retreated into a corner. The hem of his striped shirt was red-stained where he held it bunched to his bleeding nose. Pushing to her feet, she met his shamed look and there was something in his eyes that made her wonder if he'd finally come to understand what he'd done to her. She doubted it, but at least the frakker didn't try to stop her as she followed Simon from the room.

Behind her, Kara could hear the monotone of the Hybrid's voice restart. But Kara realized with a shudder that it was repeating itself. She quickened her pace down the long hallway with its words lashing at her soul.

"_End of line."_

"_End of line."_

"_End of…_


	117. Chapter 117 Doors To The Past

Chapter 97 Doors To The Past

Frowning, Boomer studied the inlaid datastream panel beside the door. As she'd suspected, instead of a conventional human lock barring her entrance, a pad like the ones used to secure the cells on New Caprica had been used. She was pretty sure she could open the door, but would it leave a 'footprint' behind for Cavil to see? Though it was true that her meeting with him several hours ago had been cordial enough, she still had the strong feeling that only those of his own model were meant to know of this barred room—and what if he found out that she'd uncovered his secret? Rubbing her hands along her goosebumping arms, Boomer felt a building dread at what action her 'mentor' might take.

She turned from the door, intending to just forget she'd ever found the room, but halted, head bowed as she clenched her fists at her side. It felt like New Caprica all over again. Hadn't she decided to follow Cavil to rid herself of the nagging guilt? In the time since putting herself under his tutelage, she'd tried to purge the human emotions that he'd said were the curse holding her back. Yet she'd never been able to quite capture the peace that he said came with the sweeping aside of her human experiences. She'd tried! Her voting with Cavil had been an attempt to convince herself that they needed to take the pragmatic approach, not get pulled into pretending that they—and the Raiders by extension—were more than parts of a whole.

It had been a lie though.

Boomer lifted her head, eyes unfocused as she stared back down the empty corridor. Lies seemed to have filled her life every since the moment she'd pulled the trigger on the Old Man. Not that they had started then. No, that had just been the point when she couldn't pretend anymore. Everything she'd known as fact, everything she'd believed about herself, it had been torn apart by the echoes of the two gunshots that day.

Well, she was sick of it. There had to be some truth, somewhere. Maybe she could find it behind this door.

Spinning back, Boomer placed her palm on the illuminated pad before she could change her mind. It took but a moment before she heard a click and withdrew her hand. She reached out and again hesitated before taking a breath and pushing the door open. It swung wide at her touch. As she paused on the threshold, Boomer swept the room with a glance. From the appearance, it was obviously meant as a cell. A pair of bunkbeds were secured to the left wall and a minuscule shower with accompanying sink and toilet lined the right. There was no privacy to the setup at all. And as Boomer recognized the cell's two occupants, she suddenly understood why.

Across the room, sitting at a table facing each other, were Ellen Tigh and Samuel T Anders. Identical expressions of surprise that matched her own turned Boomer's way as confusion drew her eyebrows down from their startled position.

The hiss of hydraulics twitched her attention to the left and right and Boomer realized that a Centurion stood to each side of the door, heads swiveling to scrutinize her with a ruby pulse. Her muscles locked as she realized that Cavil would certainly know of her transgression now if he bothered to question either guard. As the Centurions made no additional move, she swallowed and, figuring that she'd already gone past the point of no return anyways, stepped into the room and heard the door close behind her with a fatalistic clang.

With the Centurions at her back, she moved towards the white-clad pair, hands clasped behind her so they couldn't see them trembling. At her approach, the bare-chested man at the table set aside the balled-up sweatshirt he'd been holding while Ellen's blonde head tilted in a measuring look that was nearly enough to cause Boomer to stumble. But then the older woman's glare slid into a genuinely welcoming smile as Boomer came to a hesitant halt a couple of paces from the table.

"You're Sharon…the Eight from Galactica. Uh, it's Boomer, right?" Ellen confirmed with a hint of surprise and a glance at Anders. As the man rose, Boomer started to retreat, but stopped when he held up a hand and slowly sank onto his chair again.

"Hey, relax. No threat here," he said, tone low and, for good measure, placed both palms atop the table. "We just don't get many visitors is all." Ellen gave a soft laugh and the pair shared a sardonic look.

"You're that pyramid player…the Resistance fighter from Caprica," shifting her gaze to the woman, "and—and Mrs. Tigh?" Boomer hesitantly said, pretty sure of the woman's identity having seen but never met her while on the Galactica.

As she looked from one to the other, she couldn't figure Cavil's angle in keeping the XO's wife and an ex-Resistance leader hidden away like this. Was he holding them as bargaining chips to use at some crucial point in the future?

"You seem lost, dear," Ellen said. "Are you quite sure you should be down here?" The solicitous tone made Boomer blink in confusion at her. Surely the pair had been captured on New Caprica? And yet their calm demeanor wasn't what she'd expected at all for someone held for months by Cavil. The thought triggered an elusive memory, something she'd overheard D'Anna discussing with Natalie and Caprica shortly after the Colonists' escape from the planet.

_What was it?_

Boomer frowned as she tried to recall the snippet of conversation, but she was distracted as Anders spoke up. "Good question," he said, giving her a searching look as he shifted in his chair to sit at an angle, one arm draped casually over its back. "Cavil's seemed pretty gung-ho to keep us in hidden since we woke, so why's he sent you now?"

_Woke?_

And then the memory came clear.

Boomer had been walking Hera up and down the basestar's corridors in hopes of settling the cranky toddler when she'd passed an occupied alcove. Hearing an argument between the a pair of Sixes and D'Anna, she had been tempted to stop and eavesdrop on the trio, but just then the little girl had started to cry, so Boomer had hurried onward.

But not before catching snatches of the heated discussion between her sisters.

Something the Three had done during the Occupation had upset Caprica…and Natalie had sided with her. As she recalled their words, Boomer's eyes widened and she stared in shock at the man before her.

For he wasn't a _man_ at all!

Caprica had said that God abhorred D'Anna's actions in the torture and killing of helpless prisoners, proclaiming that the Three's murdering of Starbuck's husband was a sin. Boomer had been distracted then by the squirming child in her arms and hadn't given further thought to what she'd overheard…until now.

Samuel T Anders was Kara Thrace's husband. A fact Boomer had learned during her time on New Caprica. She'd snuck a look into the settlements records on Colonial One, curiosity about her prior shipmates overcoming her concern at what the other models might think of her lingering emotional bond to her past. The fact that Starbuck had actually married had been an especially jarring indicator at how much had changed since Boomer had been part of the fleet.

But she knew for a fact who the former pilot had married. So if Caprica had been correct about Anders' death, than she realized that the figure lounging so nonchalantly here and now couldn't be any more human than Boomer herself.

"You're a Cylon," her words slipped out, heavily mixed with disbelief, wonder…and a touch of fear. Because, if Anders was a humanoid Cylon, then he was also one of the five unknown models. The ones they were forbidden to speak of, even to think about. With the realization came a corresponding lance of pain behind her eyes and Boomer grimaced.

"Yeah. Pretty much figured that out when I woke in a new body," Anders replied, his expression reflecting his own shock and disbelief at that moment of rebirth. "Frakking ironic when you get right down to it." He shook his head and looked across to his companion.

As Ellen Tigh stood, Boomer started to retreat, then stopped, reminding herself that she was both stronger than the human and there were a pair of Centurions to call on for reinforcement if needed. Though, now that she thought of it, she wondered exactly how much authority she had over the guards. Pulling her scattering thoughts together, Boomer tried to focus as the older woman laid a hand lightly on her shoulder.

"I'm afraid that Sam here isn't the only one to make that…unsettling discovery," Ellen wryly said, arching one eyebrow as if waiting for Boomer to grasp her meaning. When she finally did, Boomer instinctively recoiled from Ellen's touch, her stunned gaze darting between the pair as the knowledge that she now stood in the presence of not just one, but _two_ of the shadowy figures of Cylon history.

Ellen's tone was stringent as she said, "Believe me, dear, I understand now what you went through after Galactica. The painful awaking in a resurrection tank, learning that your entire world was a falsehood imposed by another." Her expression turned grim as she continued. "I remember everything from before, you know. My original 'birth', working with the Centurions to produce the later prototypes, first you, then Saul, Tory, Sam and the last, Galen."

Boomer's eye widened further with each reveal. She had no idea who Tory was, but Galen! Her breath caught and threatened to choke her. She coughed, trying to dislodge the clenched feeling. Trying to focus on what else Ellen had said, Boomer found the idea that the XO was himself a Cylon as nearly impossible for her to reconcile. It had to be a mistake…or a lie. But why? And if Ellen Tigh was standing here proclaiming herself one of the five, would it be any more improbably that her husband was also?

Pressing fingertips to her forehead, she wished she could push both the headache—and the knowledge that had caused it—away. The scrape of a chair shot another arrow of pain through her temple and she blinked her eyes open when hands gripped her shoulders and firmly pushed her to sit.

"Damned lot to take in," said Sam as he gave her a sympathetic look.

"You're in pain?" Ellen's question pulled Boomer's gaze and she gave a careful nod, then watched the older woman exchange a glance with Anders. "It's obvious Cavil wiped anyone that knew of us, could he have also put in an aversion routine?" she asked of her companion.

Sam replied, "Looks so. Seems like something he'd do," his words bitterly spoken. Then his eyebrows rose, "Wait…if you didn't know about us, why would Cavil send you down here?"

"He didn't."

Their expressions reflected first confusion, then a surge of hope at her words.

"You found us on your own. What a clever girl," Ellen said, giving Boomer's knee a pat. The calculation in the woman's eyes and her condescending tone irritated Boomer and she abruptly stood, scuffing the chair back as she turned to face the startled pair.

"Why? Why all this," a wave at the room, "What happened to you and the others?" she demanded, ignoring the pounding in her temples.

"Ahhh," Ellen sighed and shook her head. "Now, that's a long story, and I'm not sure how long you dare stay."

"Long enough," she snapped, sick at never knowing what was going on.

Again a shared look between the prisoners. Their easy rapport made her even angrier and at first couldn't figure why. Perhaps it was because _she_ felt so alone all the time? It didn't matter she decided, shoving the feelings aside. She wanted the truth and wasn't leaving until she'd gotten it.

They must have seen something of the resolve in her expression for Sam shrugged and offered her the seat again even as Ellen returned to hers. He moved to lean against the back wall and crossed his arms, apparently content to have his companion start their story.

Boomer held herself steady under Ellen's intense regard, then relaxed as the woman's lips lifted in a smile.

"You're so beautiful. The Eights have always had an innocence I've envied."Before Boomer could question what she meant, Ellen asked, "How much do you know of our history?"

"Not much," Boomer admitted with a frown. "What I could find in the datastream. But it seems…incomplete." She met the other woman's questioning look and confessed, "I don't remember anything before Galactica. That is…I have the implanted memories of my fake past, but…" she trailed off with a jerky shrug, still disturbed by the inability to recall the time before she was put in place as a sleeper agent.

"At a guess, I'd say that was because you were newly 'born'…programmed only with the memories necessary to fulfill your task," Ellen said. "Cavil always was one for 'minimum disclosure," her mocking tone directed at the absent One.

"Yeah," Sam interjected from his spot against the wall, "he meant you to sabotage Galactica. Kill Adama if you could. Doubt Cavil cared about anything else."

What they'd said made sense, and Boomer found it strangely reassuring that she wasn't 'missing' any memories—they just had never existed in the first place. She felt a sense of relief, like a long held muscle unclenching, and gave a nod for them to continue.

With her fingers tapping a slow cadence on the table top, "Where to start," Ellen murmured, considering her words. "I suppose at the beginning. Towards the end of the First War, the balance of battle was shifting to the humans. Though the Cylons rebellion had the initial advantage of surprise, they lacked the generations of experience humans had at war and, unlike _this_ time, hadn't had years to prepare." Ellen paused with a distant look crossing her face. The older woman's gaze snapped back to Boomer and she continued, "Then there was a breakthrough in several of their experiments. Something that changed their focus. Desiring to continue the research without interruption, they offered an armistice to the humans and withdrew."

"They'd made the first hybrid and successfully cloned a human," Sam filled in, explaining what could have been so important to cause the Cylons to disappear for forty years.

"Over the following years, the Centurions worked to conjoin human and nanite technology. Eventually they were able to actually 'graft' the two together." Ellen paused as Sam moved to pace the small space between the two walls. The cause of his agitation became apparent as she continued her narrative. "The Centurions still had human captives from the war. They used the prisoners as templates for both DNA and personalities to create the humanoid models. Cavil was the first prototype…and I think a part of him 'remembers' who he was before."

Boomer's head jerked around at the sound of a palm striking the wall behind her. She could see the muscles of Anders' back ripple with tension and noticed for the first time the pale scars that circled both of his well defined arms. She wondered briefly at their cause, but ignored them as she grasped why he was upset by the truth of the twelve humanoids' origin. Hadn't Boomer herself struggled over the guilt of the knowledge that her race had murdered countless billions? The realization that it was only through experimentation on prisoners that she had come into existence was sickening to her, too. It made the Farms on Caprica pale in comparison.

"Sam?" the concerned inquiry caused both she and Anders to turn. "Sam, it's not like _we_ had anything to do with it," Ellen said, and Boomer had the feeling it was a well worn discussion between the pair.

"But we did," he harshly disagreed. "We created Resurrection. When I think—"

"Stop it," Ellen commanded, rising to stand before him. "We were the creations. New life. It wasn't wrong to desire a future. To seek a way to propagate our race."

Turning to her, he said, "Yeah, and look how _that_ worked out," his expression darkening further.

As the woman laid a hand on his bare chest, Boomer was struck by the intimacy in the light touch and the shifting look in Anders blue eyes.

_Were these two..? _

Her disconcerted thought was interrupted as Ellen laughed, the mirth sounding like it had been scoured by an underlying pain as the older woman let her hand fall to her side and turned away.

Boomer saw Sam's expression soften further as he contritely said, "Look, I know. Just makes me sick whenever I think about it. Knowing that part of me is made from some guy they…" his eyes slanted toward the Centurions by the door and his words faltered. Noting the twist of his lips, she was sure it was nausea at the idea rather than any fear Anders might have of his guards that caused him to trail off. And considering the explanation she'd heard, Boomer felt a matching queasiness.

The fact that the Cylons had used humans as some sort of matrix to form the twelve models brought up so many disturbing images; it didn't take much imagination to picture a human woman torn from her life on the Colonies and subjected to untold. The fact that the Eight's progenitor probably looked identical to herself made the unknown woman's abuse more personal.

She shifted around on her chair as Ellen retook the opposite seat. The woman adjusted the sleeves of her sweatshirt as she composed herself to continue, and Boomer wondered what other revelations she had yet to reveal. With a fervent prayer she hoped they wouldn't be as troubling.

"As I said, Cavil may have some awareness of his human past," the woman repeated. "I've always sensed a deep self-loathing within all the Ones despite their overt assertion of superiority. Perhaps the original human understood what he was being used for, and some of that carried over during the initial personality imprinting."

"Too bad he didn't do us all a favor and just do himself at the start," Sam's words came over Boomer's shoulder, but she didn't turn this time to face him.

"Hush now. You know suicides forbidden." Ellen cast a scolding look to the man behind Boomer, then added, "Though I admit, it _would've_ simplified things immensely." Over her shoulder came a harsh laugh and Ellen's lips tightened into a thin smile before she continued. "The Centurions continued to experiment. Somehow they had developed a belief system based on a single entity—God. The Two prototype was an ambitious attempt to impart that faith. I don't know the details, but the human subject they used must have had a…unique background."

From what she'd seen of the Twos, unique seemed an understatement, Boomer thought. As she listened to Ellen Tigh relate the creation of the Threes, Fours, Fives and Sixes, she wondered why the Centurions seemed so intent on developing humanoid models. Choosing to let the other woman relate the tale in her own way, Boomer bit back her questions.

But when Ellen paused, "Why bother? Why did they make us in the first place?" she demanded, the depth of bitterness in her voice surprising even herself. The older woman's sympathetic look eased a modicum of the hurt binding Boomer's chest.

"It seems that like all sentient beings, the Centurions wanted _more_," Ellen said, her hand sliding across the table to settle over Boomer's. "I don't know the full story, but at some point in the humans' formation of their mechanical slaves, they incorporated—possibly unintentionally—an imprint of an actual person. Much like the Centurions would later do with us."

Started Boomer, "I don't see…" then trailed off with a shake of her head.

"The first Cylons accepted what they were, but with the introduction of a past human life, they learned to desire the pleasures of the human form." As Boomer's expression shifted to revulsion, Ellen shook her head. "No, not _that_." She lifted and clasped Boomer's hand between her two. "They sought the warmth of touch. The feeling of nerve endings that experienced the world about them in layers of meaning, rather than circuits that just translated facts. They longed for the subjective, and were unwilling to settle for the objective now that they knew the difference."

As she considered the words, Boomer's gaze turned to the guards by the door.

_Do they envy us?_

_Is that why the inhibitors were developed?_

Her attention refocused on the woman across from her as she released her hand and settled back in her seat.

"I was the Seventh," Ellen said, and her gaze went distant for a moment. "I'm pretty sure Cavil had convinced the Centurions to construct a model to act as his mate." A shiver passed through the older woman as her lips twisted before she straightened in her chair. "Let's just say I wasn't so inclined."

"Who the hell would be," Sam spoke up, and Boomer jumped, having forgotten about the man behind her. He came around and resumed his original spot leaning against the back wall with arms crossed. His expression and tone hard, "Cavil—_all the Ones_—are evil bastards. The way he comes in here to 'check' on us? You know he just wants to watch us as he tells whatever news he's got. And the way he taunts you," said Sam, voice growing louder with each word.

"My dear boy, I've told you his taunts ceased to bother me once I awoke in the resurrection tank and remembered everything."

"Yeah, well they _bother_ me," he snapped, but in a lower voice.

"I know," her look filled with sympathy and understanding, "I _know,_ Sam," she said. Taking a breath, Ellen turned her gaze back to Boomer. "I've had several months now to think about the how and why that came after my creation. These past weeks I've discovered that I, too, have a…a residual of the memories of whatever poor woman was used as _my_ template." She paused, then shrugged. "It's like an elusive shadow glimpsed but shifting from view when I try to study it." Another shrug. "I never found Cavil to my taste. Not necessarily because of him specifically, for he was much younger then and not such a sour puss as now. No, it's that I 'missed' something…someone."

"Colonial Tigh?" Boomer made a guess and saw the affirmation in the quirk of the woman's mouth.

"Saul Tigh," confirmed Ellen. Then, "The old bastard," she said, her words belied by the warmth in her voice. "He was the Ninth, and I had a hand in his creation. Didn't understand at the time why it was so important to me that they used a certain subject's DNA and personality profile, but I've come to the conclusion that my progenitor and his were _together_ even before they were captured. That it was a need to recreate a lost love that guided my choice."

Staring at the XO's wife, Boomer found herself thinking that her story sounded both romantic…and vaguely disturbing. But, then again, so had everything else she'd learned since entering this room. She blinked as she realized that the woman had skipped over Boomer's own origin.

Hesitantly, unsure now if she really wanted to know about the development of her model, "And…and the Eights?" she asked. The look that passed between Ellen and Sam only served to increase her apprehension.

Ellen took a breath and said, "Cavil, still _upset_ over my rejection, convinced the Centurions that a more…malleable," the older woman gave her a measuring look, "female should be created."

Boomer was halfway to the door when Sam's voice called to her. She didn't want to stop, didn't want to hear any more.

Her jerky stride broke, though, as he shouted, "He failed." And rage spun her to face him.

"You're lying! I'm exactly what he wanted. A thing to use," she bitterly said.

"No," this from Ellen as she stood. "No, Cavil's failed so many times. Your standing here is proof. And I heard that it was you and Caprica that resisted his call for the total destruction of the New Caprican colony. And the Sharon on Galactica—" the woman broke off at Boomer's dark glare.

Stepping towards her, Sam said, "Point is, Cavil doesn't control you."

"I let him _use_ me," Boomer confessed, head lowering as her face heated with a new shame—not at the intimacy she'd shared with the One, but at her naivety in trusting him in the first place.

"So did I," Ellen's words twitched Boomer's head up. "On New Caprica. He used Saul as leverage for my…cooperation." The older woman grimaced. "Cooperation, hell. I frakked him into oblivion to save Saul." She lifted her chin. "And I'd do it again if I had to."

Boomer blinked at the challenge in Ellen's eyes—as if she was _really_ going to judge the other woman for her actions. Certainly not after all of her own poor choices. Wetting her lips, she tried to push aside the inner turmoil and moved to pick up the chair that had fallen when she'd bolted. Resuming her seat, she gripped her hands in her lap and stared up at the other woman until she resettled, too.

As if in mutual agreement to move past the issue of why the Eights were created, Ellen picked up her story. "After Saul, the final three prototypes were created," she continued. "Tory, Sam and Galen. I didn't have a hand in their development. I was distracted." It wasn't necessary for her to explain by what…or whom. "I can't say I know what purpose the Centurions were striving for with Tory or Sam, but I know that with Galen they were seeking a closer connection to their mechanical side. Perhaps they felt the other prototypes had strayed too far to the human side of their origin."

"Too much human bad influence in us, huh?" Sam mocked with a huff and a glance at the silent sentinels by the door.

"You have to admit, Sammy, that I've worked hard to earn that reputation," Ellen said, tone suggestive as she smiled up at him. Her teasing look fell away though as pain flickered in the blue eyes. In a dismayed voice, "I'm sorry, I forgot—" she rushed to apologize, reaching out towards him.

"Don't," he cut her off with a raised palm. "I know. It's ok."

But Boomer could tell by the hunch of his shoulders that whatever had just happened had struck a painful blow. At her perplexed look to Ellen, "Kara," the woman quietly replied. Well, that only sort of clarified things for Boomer. When her continuing confusion registered, "Only Kara ever called him that and he's not taken her death well," the woman added, her expression grim.

"But she's not dead."

The figure to Boomer's left snapped forward from his place on the wall, practically lunging at her and she instinctively recoiled.

"_What!"_ he exclaimed, looming over her now.

"Kara's not dead. I don't know why you—" Her words were cleaved by his shout of rage.

"_The bastard!"_ swore Sam, spinning towards the door."I'm gonna kill him."

Ellen was on her feet and clinging to his elbow before he'd gone three paces.

"No! Think!" She clung to Sam and tried to swing him around. "He mustn't find out," she urgently said as he tried to shake her off his arm.

It was likely the move of the two Centurions as each stepped sideways to block his path more than her words that halted Sam. He glared at the pair that blocked his way and Boomer saw the flex of his arms as he clenched his fists in frustration. And as her eyes caught on the thin scars and the Centurions beyond, she suddenly knew what had caused the healed cuts. The sentries had obviously been ordered to prevent the prisoners from leaving the room, but at a guess Boomer thought they'd also been told not to kill them. Often enough she'd seen the gleam of the Centurions' fingers and the scars around Anders' arms made perfect sense now.

Ellen's voice lowered, taking on a wheedling tone as she repeated, "He can't know that she," a tilt of her head back towards Boomer, "was here and knows about us. Think! You can't get out, but the Centurions will report your attempt as they have in the past. He'll want to know why. We've got to keep him from learning that she's been here." Seeming sure that he wasn't going to lunge at the guards, Ellen shifted her attention to Boomer, "Will the guards follow your commands?" she demanded.

"I-I-I don't know. I wasn't expecting them. Didn't know they'd be inside." She shrugged helplessly, so caught up in what she'd been learning that she'd forgotten to worry about how she was getting out of here herself without Cavil being the wiser.

As his companion tugged on his arm, Sam let himself be pulled back to the table and dropped into the chair Ellen had occupied. His gaze locked with Boomer's and she was relieved to see that the rage had given way to a wary hope.

"She's alive? Kara's really alive?"

"Yes, last I heard," Boomer confirmed, nodding for emphasis. A shudder swept the broad shoulders and he took a breath before leaning forward.

"Cavil said she'd died on New Caprica. Killed herself after Leoben—" he choked off, eyes filled with pain at the lies he'd been told. "Didn't want to believe him. Kara wouldn't…not like that."

"Kara left with the fleet. She made it," Boomer hurried to reassure him, then hesitated, not positive if telling him _how_ she knew was a good idea. He must have sensed she was holding something back, for he leaned further forward, hands splayed on the table between them, and she licked her lips before continuing. "A little less than two weeks ago Leo…uh, she was found in a damaged Raptor. She's being held on a basestar." The hands before her whitened as they were pressed against the table's metal surface.

"_He_ has her?" Sam demanded and Boomer didn't have to ask whom he meant. She shook her head and his gaze eased slightly, yet looked perplexed.

"Not Leoben. She's under the protection of Simon on Natalie's basestar."

"Simon?" His momentary relief vanished and he started to rise as he bit out, "That frakking butcher that cut her up on Caprica?"

Boomer was surprised when Ellen shoved him back into the seat. With a glance at the older woman, she rushed on to try to provide what reassurance she could.

"Sam, listen. Kara's on Natalie's basestar. Her people, they're different. Pro-human...or at least not like Cavil. Look. I know Simon. He's different now than how he was on Caprica. Kara's safe." At his glare, "Ok, let's just say that they've no reason to harm her. And she was put under Simon's protection specifically to keep Leoben at a distance."

"I have to see her." His eyes widened at a thought. "I've gotta get Kara out of here before Cavil finds out about her. He'll want to—" Boomer grabbed his hand across the table, trying to head off the building panic she saw in his eyes.

"He can't get at her, Sam. Kara's on one of the rebel basestars," she quickly said.

"Of course!" Ellen exclaimed from behind him. "Sam, she's on one of the basestars that has turned on Cavil. Remember what we were told about the Twos, Sixes and Eights?"

"Yeah, I remember. Cavil's frakking stand-in said they were going to find a final solution for them all." His face was set in grim lines as Ellen came around to face him, and another silent look of understanding passed between them.

Disturbed at his words, Boomer hurried to deny them. "No. I just spoke with Cavil. There's going to be a vote on what to do. I'll be there speaking for the Eights. I spoke to a Four and it really sounds like they want to meet with the rebels. Find a peaceful alternative." At their doubting looks, "He can't just box everyone!" she protested.

"Why not? He did before," said Sam. And as he went to stand, Ellen abruptly settled onto his lap, draping an arm over his shoulders and began to stroke his hair. His embarrassed glance at Boomer drew a mocking smile from Ellen.

Giving the strands around her finger a light tug, "Relax, Sam," she said. "I'm sure Boomer knows how we've 'entertained' ourselves while stuck here." Arching a smirk towards the younger woman where she shifted in her chair. "So little to do for months on end." Her teasing tone abruptly disappeared. "Cavil saw to that."

Keeping her improvised seat, Ellen straightened slightly and picked up her earlier story as if never interrupted. "After the twelfth prototype, it was decided to look to perfecting who we were instead of simply creating new models. Working on the Centurions' belief that God meant his children to 'be fruitful', attempts were made to procreate." By the woman's smug expression, Boomer guessed that she had been all for those _attempts_. "You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Doral's predecessor…quite the little horn-dog. He kept Six and Three pretty busy there for awhile. And I do believe that even Tory gave him the time of day at least once. Though, mind you," with a wave of her finger towards Boomer, "I only suspect that," Ellen said slyly. On catching the younger woman's dismayed expression, "Oh, don't worry dear. Cavil was way too possessive of the Eight to let anyone else near," she said with a condescending pat on Boomer's hand where it still rested on the table across from her.

Pulling away from the older woman's touch, embarrassed by her crass words and apparent relish for gossip, "But it didn't work," Boomer curtly stated, hoping to push the conversation along. At Ellen's questioning look, "No one got pregnant?" she clarified.

With an exaggerated sigh, "Sadly no," Ellen answered. Then with a lascivious smirk, "but not from lack of trying. Saul and I thought maybe different positions. We tri—" she broke off with a squeak as Sam shifted, threatening to dump her off his lap. Giving him a disgruntled look, "Fine!" she huffed at him. "It's just been so long since I've had anyone to talk to." At his raised eyebrows, "Don't be silly. You know what I mean."

She resettled herself on his lap with a purposeful wiggle that brought forth a resigned expression on his face.

Turning her head back to Boomer, all levity left her eyes. "No. There were no children," an echo of an earlier despair sounded in her voice. "And no medical defect in our bodies that we could find. Cavil turned to other means, researching different methods of artificial insemination and in vitro fertilization. He was about to start experiments when an accident occurred. At least we all assumed it was an accident. The Two died. From a broken neck caused by a fall. His death left the rest of us shaken, but Cavil insisted that it was of 'no consequence' since the Centurions had matured several of the modified clones for each of our models. He simply downloaded the original programming into the new body."

As Sam shifted slightly, Boomer caught his gaze, reading the conflict in his blue eyes. It appeared that, like herself, he hadn't found the realization of what he was as easy to accept as the woman he held. She could tell that all the talk of clones and such set him ill-at-ease, perhaps because of how he felt about the Cylon Farms? Simon had told her about Kara's time on Caprica under his care, and what he knew of the Resistance from a brother Four that had infiltrated their camp. It wasn't difficult to guess at how disturbing Sam was finding the present conversation given her knowledge of his past.

Her attention refocused on Ellen at the woman's small headshake.

"It wasn't the same," said Ellen. Then to clarify, "I mean, the Two. He was physically identical with all the memories that his predecessor had started with. But he wasn't the _same_," she repeated. "Two had experienced so much in the year since his original 'birth'. Those moments were lost. And I remember thinking what a shame that was." Then the older woman's tone changed, becoming eager with recalled discovery, "And it struck me. Why did we have to lose anything? What if there had been a way to capture the Two's essence at the time of his death?" Ellen practically bounded from Sam's lap in the throes of the memory and began to pace. "I suggested that we look into the continuation of each individual, rather than focusing entirely on the procreation of our new race." With a flutter of her hand, she huffed, "Of course Cavil pooh-poohed the idea." Then, giving Boomer an eyeroll, "He still resented my rejection of him, you know," she added.

"He resented more than that," interjected Sam.

"Well…yes," she agreed. "He wasn't happy with Saul and I questioning his authority. He was _the first_. And expected everyone to show what he considered proper deference to his opinions." She gave a sharp laugh, "Ha! As if being first made him the best."

"I remember you going out of your way to goad him," Sam said, giving her a chiding look. She shrugged, her expression confirming, but non-repentant.

"He was irritating," she defensively said. "The way he tried to lord it over the rest of us." Boomer had to quell the urge to smile as the woman pouted, her lower lip stuck out. The temptation disappeared, though, as Ellen's expression just as quickly turned grim. "He certainly got his own back at me, didn't he?"

Both of the captives fell into dark thoughts. As the silence stretched out, Boomer stood, pulling their questioning gaze.

"Look. You were right. I don't know how much time I have here," she said to them. "So just tell me. How the frak did you two—well, you five, I guess—end up on the Colonies thinking you were human?"

Ellen gave a concerned glance towards the door as if expecting Cavil to walk through in that instant. With a nod to Sam, the older woman clasped her hands in front of her and leveled her gaze on Boomer.

"Like Sam said, I did take pleasure in tweaking Cavil's sense of self-importance." Her tone was laced with regret as she continued, "That was a mistake that I've paid for—that _we've_ paid for—on a scale I never could have foreseen. Saul and I set to work on the idea of resurrection, drawing in first Galen with his affinity for machines and then Tory and Sam. Meanwhile, Cavil gathered the others into his own group of followers."

Though Ellen didn't actually say it, it was clear to Boomer where the original Eight stood during this separation into factions. She grimaced as she examined her feelings towards Cavil. Could it have only been a little over fifteen hours since he had emerged from the resurrection tub ranting about how the Twos, Sixes and Eights had all gone mad? Boomer had had so many blows to her view of the world as she knew it, that it was difficult for her to decipher what she was feeling. But, as she reached inward, she found a twisting worm of revulsion had wound itself around any thought of the One. With Ellen's next words, Boomer's disgust strangled any attachment she'd once held for her mentor.

"He experimented on the Three, Six and Eight," Ellen said. "When his initial attempts resulted in their deaths, he simply downloaded another of each—though even he knew that he was constrained until a greater number of additional clones could be force-grown."

A distant horror at Ellen's matter-of-fact recitation tightened Boomer's chest and she fought to push away the thoughts of what those early sisters had endured. Her eyes sought Sam's, seeing the shadow of shame in his expression before he stood and turned away. Bending, he retrieved his cloth ball and began to toss it hand to hand, her eyes following the hypnotic motion as a welcome distraction. Then her head jerked around at the scrape of the chair as Ellen took his abandoned seat and picked up the thread of her story.

"When our group believed we'd found the way to perform a true resurrection, we were in a quandary as to how to prove it."

"So, no volunteers, huh?" Boomer said, more a statement than a question as she gave the pair a critical glare.

"We couldn't risk it," Ellen quickly protested. "Between the five of us, we each held an irreplaceable repository of knowledge and specific expertise."

"Yeah, and we hadn't learned to share or sacrifice yet," Sam put in as he spun on his heels, wadded ball pulled back, and flung his farcical weapon at the nearest guard. It bounced off and unfurled at the Centurion's feet. The metal Cylon didn't even twitch in acknowledgment of the ineffectual attack, and Boomer had the notion that Sam had made a game of pelting his guards with the rolled garment many times over the past months.

Boomer watched the man stride towards the door and tensed as the Centurions abruptly moved, each sidestepping with a whirl of hydraulic to block the exit again. Neither lifted their arms, just swiveled their heads enough to lock on Sam where he halted three feet away. Ellen didn't rise to stop him, perhaps recognizing that even though his shoulders twitched with coiled tension, he was firmly in control of his emotions this time.

Still facing the metal pair, "It's not their fault," he said, his words obviously about the Centurions, but directed back to Boomer where she still stood uncertainly watching. "They just wanted to be free. Wanted what all of us desired, the chance to grow beyond our limitations. They thought they were creating a new future for their kind. Instead, they got us," Sam's voice was filled with self-loathing. He tilted his head in thought, then Boomer saw him make a visible effort to release the pent-up aggression in his body before taking a cautious step forward, just far enough to allow him to snag his abused shirt and retreat. At his withdrawal, the Centurions again resumed their position on either side of the door.

To Ellen, "Tell her the rest. Best get it done before the bastard _does_ return," Sam said, wrapping the cloth around his hand and returning to his spot against the back wall.

"Saul and I snuck into Cavil's lab," Ellen said, then her expression turned bleak as she continued, "As I suspected, we found one of his—his _subjects_ near death. A Six this time." The older woman flinched at the memory, and Boomer abruptly didn't want to hear anymore. She was tempted to leave, run from the room and all its dark revelations, but the determined look that settled across Ellen's countenance was enough to cement her feet to the floor, and she couldn't look away, let alone move.

"I had no idea what had been done to her, but we could see that she only had moments left. Saul carried her to where we'd set up our own workroom." A brief pause, and when she continued, her voice wavered just the slightest, "T-t-there was this flower I'd picked in the hydroponics unit earlier. A yellow bud just opening. I remember the look in her eyes as I pressed it into her hand. She was so weak she could barely lift it…but she died inhaling its scent with her last breath." As Ellen turned slightly aside, Boomer saw her hand lift to discreetly brush a tear away. She was surprised that the woman was still moved by the death of a Six that had happened so very long ago. The realization left her feeling a little more charitable towards the otherwise abrasive woman.

Straightening with a sniff, "Then we waited," Ellen said. "Monitored the upload. I was so excited when it looked like it had worked…that we'd actually boxed everything that made the Six an individual, and could thus recreate her." Her lips quirked into a smile that didn't quite reach her haunted eyes. "After that, it was simple thing to take the cartridge and return to Cavil's lab. The smarmy bastard even already had another clone body in the birthing tank. He was just waiting until the Six died before trying again."

"Wait," Boomer shot a confused glance from Sam and back to Ellen, "wasn't Cavil there?"

The sneer on Sam's face was answer enough, but he added, "No. He left her alone to die. Probably figured he had better things to do than hold the hand of one of his failures." Sam kicked out at the table, causing Boomer to jerk back as it flipped over with a bang_._ A worried glance at the Centurions reassured her that they obviously didn't care how much the furnishings were trashed as long as the prisoners didn't try to leave.

"That worked in our favor," said Ellen, giving Sam a quelling look he never saw as he spun away.

From the creak of bedsprings behind her, Boomer could tell that the man had retreated to one of the bunks. Feeling exposed without the table between her and Ellen, she crossed her arms and gave the other woman a nod to get on with her story.

"Without Cavil there to interfere, we were able to successfully downloaded the Six into the waiting clone," continued Ellen. "Her 'awakening' was painful to watch—I'd somehow forgotten the trauma of my own birth," her hand fluttered dismissively, "Once Six was coherent enough, I asked her about the last thing she remembered. The flower!" Ellen clasped her hands together. "We were ecstatic! It had actually worked."

"Ok, so you've got Resurrection," leaning forward now, "but that still doesn't tell me anything about all this," Boomer said with a meaningful glance about the spartanly furnished room.

From behind her, "Cavil was practically frothing. The fact that we'd succeeded? Yeah, you could say that he was pissed at us," came Sam's grim words. "Didn't help that he figured we'd 'stolen' the Six from him. As if he'd given a damn about her," his tone bitter.

"He felt threatened," explained Ellen. "His position, his authority, he thought I—or more accurately—_Saul_ was trying to usurp his place. With the schism between the humanoid models and then our development of Resurrection technology, he became obsessed with the idea that Saul intended a coup."

"We should have." Sam's tone soured further as he added, "If you all had listened to me, we could have prevented this. Instead, he drugged us, overrode our memories with implanted ones and shipped us off to the Colonies."

"No. That doesn't make sense," said Boomer, trying to work out a timeline that fit with what she knew.

"You have to understand, dear," said Ellen, "We only know—_remember_—a small portion of the events. But the past months stuck in the gracious accommodations Cavil provided us has given Sam and me ample time to…let say, refine some theories." With a grimace, she added, "And Cavil was exceptionally eager to gloat over the details of his conquest over the five that made up Saul's faction. Sam may have glossed over quite a bit, but he's essentially correct."

"But the others, the other models, they would've known," protested Boomer.

"Not if he killed them and started with a clean download for each into a new clone." At his shocking words, this time Boomer did twist around to stare wide-eyed at Sam where he sat on the edge of the bed regarding her with a face gaunt with bleak guilt.

"Oh, he didn't do that at first. At least not to us," it was Ellen now that spoke behind her, and Boomer stood, shifting so she could see both without having to spin in her seat like a carousal. She saw the older woman's lips thin before continuing, "No, Cavil thought that he could simply rid himself of Saul…and me, and then the others would fall in line." She gave a headshake. "He hadn't counted on how obstinate Sam—and Tory and Galen to a lesser extent—could be."

Ellen gave Sam a meaningful glance and he continued, "My memory's still pretty fuzzy of the period of time after they," a jerk of his head towards Ellen, "disappeared. From what Cavil said, he'd found a way to block our memories, the three of us that remained. Guess he didn't want to just airlock what we knew, so he didn't kill us and start over like all the others. But after awhile I started remembering things. Images started resurfacing to all three of us," he shrugged, "and Cavil must have been afraid we'd pass our…suspicions onto the other models. At that time he only had one or two of each left to work with and couldn't just keep killing them off."

"I suspect that our Centurion predecessors may also have been pressuring him," Ellen spoke up. "They had, after all, created us, and the One's attitude must have struck them as wasteful and inefficient. I'd guess that Cavil suddenly found himself constrained by the remaining three's returning memories and the Centurions disapproval."

"He found a way around that," Sam interjected. "Boxed Galen, Tory and myself. Then somehow tricked the Centurions into letting him install the inhibitors. They've been nothing more than slaves since."

Ellen added, "I'm not sure when his plan to destroy the Colonies came into being, but he used it as a rallying point for his new _regime_," her emphasis making it clear that she viewed Cavil as a dictator working to control all those around him. Then her words took on an edge of grudging respect as she said, "It would have taken years to build the basestars and the number of clones necessary—even force-growing takes time—so he must have begun shortly after boxing the other three."

"So, he dumped you and Colonial Tigh on the Colonies. Why not just kill you, and the others at the same time?"

"Cavil has a keen sense of irony." The older woman's eyes darkened as she continued, "He probably found it perversely satisfying to _separate _us, overlay our past with false memories, and leave us to struggle among the 'inferior' humans. Eventually he resurrected Sam, Galen and Tory and did the same with them. I imagine that he'd finally decided he wasn't likely to need them and it would have pleased him knowing that the five of us would be annihilated during his destruction of the Colonies."

Boomer was startled as Sam abruptly stood and yanked the mauled shirt over his head, shoving his arms into the sleeves with vicious thrusts that betrayed his barely restrained anger. Everything she'd learned was vastly disturbing to her, but she knew that paled in comparison to how he and Ellen must feel. She took a hesitant step towards the man, but halted, letting the hand she'd half-raised to offer comfort fall back to her side. There wasn't anything she could do to change the past—she'd learned that several times over now.

But, with a calculating look at the guards, maybe there was a way to thwart Cavil _now_, she decided.

Rubbing damp palms down her pants, she took a calming breath and approached the Centurions, eyeing them for any response. At the point they had reacted to Sam, her stride faltered, but then she took another step as they remained impassively alert. She stopped before the door, flicking a glance to either side to reassure herself before raising her hand to the datastream plate. A click and the door swung open with the barest nudge. So much had been riding on whether she could actually leave or had trapped herself her with Cavil's secret that the ease of it felt strangely anti-climatic.

Boomer turned and met the anxious and excited eyes of the pair of prisoners. She had just started to smile, relief flooding her system, when Sam rushed forward. The guards' reactions this time were immediate. They moved to block his charge, nearly crushing Boomer's toes in the process as they came together in front of her, between her and Sam.

As Sam slammed to an abrupt halt, she could see the boiling frustration in his face and quickly spoke up, "Wait, Sam! Let me leave before Cavil finds out I've seen you two." At his disillusioned glare, she shook her head. "I'll find a way to free you both. I just need time."

And then Ellen was at Sam's side again, her expression shrewdly evaluating as she locked eyes with Boomer and said, "The One earlier spoke of a rebellion. If you can smuggle us to one of those basestars, we can expose all of Cavil's lies."

"I don't kno—" Boomer started, but Sam cut her off.

"You said you'd find a..." he paused, brows arching up and Boomer could see he'd had an idea. "Try giving them an order," he eagerly suggested with a tilt of his head towards the Centurions.

Doubtfully she said, "Turn around," to the metal chassis before her. Neither so much as twitched in acknowledgment. Clearing her throat, she tried again, more firmly this time. "Step aside," she commanded, and was startled as they each parted one pace sideways. But as soon as Sam started forward, they snapped back into place.

Boomer was unwilling to concede defeat quite that easily. She licked her lips and considered her words more carefully. Then, "Step aside and let this man pass," she ordered. Her heart sank as the Centurions resolutely held their position this time.

"She has to go, Sam," said Ellen, touching his arm. "Maybe she can alert the others. Get some help?"

"I-I promise I'll figure something out." The disappointment in their eyes tearing at what self-control Boomer had managed to maintain so far. She stepped backwards through the door and it shut automatically, sealing the pair inside, but not before she saw Ellen's encouraging nod.

As her eyes moved from the smooth surface of the door to the pad at the side, she worried that Cavil had only to check its log and he'd know of her visit. Pursing her lips, she considered trying to somehow hide the electronic telltale evidence of her entrance. Maybe if she had some of the others' expertise she could do it, but Boomer disconsolately knew she was just as likely to call attention by her attempts than to successfully hide her tracks. Resignedly, she turned away, hoping that none of the Ones would have any reason to check in the first place.

As Boomer hurried away, anxious not to linger where she might yet be spotted, the kernel of an idea came to mind. Running through the necessary steps to pull it off, sweat beaded along her forehead and lip. The urge to bury her head and forget her new knowledge twisted her gut, but Boomer jerked her head up instead and quickened her stride.

She'd made a promise, and it was one she meant to fulfill.


	118. Chapter 118 Three Of Five

Chapter 118 Three Of Five

Galen jerked as he felt something hard press into his back. The harsh voice behind him didn't leave him time to guess what it was before the gun's owner spoke.

"Get in there," the man growled, adding a shove with the weapon to direct Galen towards the open hatch of the parts room. His feet carried him forward before the shock of recognition even had a chance to register. Another push caused him to stumble a couple more feet before he regained his balance and spun to face his attacker.

"What the hell, Colonel?" he demanded, eyes flicking from the service revolver still leveled at him to the XO's single-eyed glare.

"What the frak did you do to me!" Saul Tigh barked.

"Sir?" Confused, Galen searched his memory of the past few days and realized he'd hardly seen the officer at all. He hadn't given it much thought, figuring that the man had probably spent too much time at the bottom of a bottle again and had made himself scarce. It wouldn't have been the first time since New Caprica.

The hand holding the gun trembled slightly as Tigh took a step nearer and the alcohol vapors that wafted from the XO seemed to confirm Galen's suspicions. He looked past the Colonel's shoulder to the still open hatch and suddenly wished someone would come along, not wanting to face down the obviously drunk man on his own.

"Don't frak with me!" The muzzle of the weapon rose higher and Galen's focus was abruptly narrowed to the dark circle of its mouth as Tigh continued. "Thought you could get away with it? Didn't think I'd know it was you that put the crazy in my head?"

A sickening feeling of understanding twisted his gut as Galen remembered that moment of connection they'd experienced three days ago.

_Oh shit! No! _

"You're a Cylon, too?" his words slipped out without conscious thought.

"Too?" Tigh snapped triumphantly. Then, "I knew it. You and Boomer were in it together. She shot the Old Man and now you've frakked with my head." Galen recoiled at the accusation, but before he could defend himself, "I oughta shoot you right now, filthy skinjob!" and Galen held his breath, the certainty that he was about to die reflected in the other man's enraged expression. But then the Colonel seemed to choke back his anger until it only registered in the tick of the muscle in his cheek.

"Can't yet, though." The XO's voice, usually gruff, sounded strangled now as he bit out, "Need you to make it go away. Whatever you did, take it back," the gun's angle lowered slightly. "…or _by Gods,_ I'll start with your feet and make my way up until you do."

Trying to work some moisture back into his mouth, Galen swallowed, not doubting the man's threat, but at a loss as to what to say that wouldn't just make matters worse. Then, as he saw Tigh's hand flex on the pistol's grip, "Colonel, I swear—" he desperately began, but a movement at the hatch caught his eye. A flutter of material, someone's sleeve, was just visible through the door's hinge-seam. "Look, Sir, by the hatch!" he frantically said, anything to distract the man long enough to maybe disarm him.

Tigh's speed alone should have been impossible for someone his age—or anyone human at all—Galen distantly thought as the older man wheeled and covered the few strides to the hatch and into the hall beyond.

"_Stop!"_ The menace in that one word froze Galen's own initial step even though the gun wasn't pointed in his direction anymore. "Get your frakking ass inside. Go!" Tigh took a pace back and waved his weapon, signaling a person Galen still couldn't see to enter the storeroom. His brows lifted in surprise as the President's Aide, Tory, fearfully slid past the Colonel and sidled to one side of the room as if to put as much distance between her and the two men.

"I don't kn—" her protest was cut off by a warning scowl from the Colonel before he pulled the hatch closed behind him, purposefully spinning the wheel to lock them in together.

With the pistol aimed in the space between them now, Tigh raked the woman with a disgusted look before he spat, _"Civilians!_ _Pah?"_ Then, added,_ "_Always pushing in where you oughtn't." And when his gaze settled on Tyrol again, "Well, girl, you're here now. You like to listen? Good. You can witness his confession. Tell the Old Man so this smarmy bastard can't talk his way out. Not this time!"

A glance at the woman showed Galen that he couldn't look to any help there. Then he did a double-take, noting just how strung out the aide looked. Dark circles marked her eyes, her hair looked like fingers had been raked through it instead of a brush and there was a quiver to her chin that spoke of barely restrained panic. Not that he could blame her, not with the way the Colonel was acting. As his gaze shifted from the woman to the XO and back, an intuition pushed a question forward.

Directed to the woman, "What were you doing down here?" he asked, and saw the Colonel's attention narrow to her.

"Good question," said Tigh, his hand swinging towards her as he snapped, "Answer him."

"I-I-I was looking for Chief Tyrol," she stuttered out, flicking a desperate look to Galen. His natural inclination was to reassure the distraught woman, but suddenly the memory of their last encounter halted his half-formed thought.

Though barely a whisper, _"Gods, all three of us?"_ his abashed words exploded like a bomb in the midst of them.

"Are you frakkin' crazy?"

"Wait! No, I just was looking for you!"

Like shrapnel, their simultaneous protests pelted him, and he held up his hands to halt their barrage.

"Hey! Just wait! Listen to me!" As they fell grudgingly silent, he rushed on, "I know what you're feeling, ok."

Voice rising, "You're lunatics. Both of you," Tory shrilled. "I'm leaving," stalking towards the hatch.

Tigh moved to block her. "No one frakking leaves till I get answers." With the gun, he waved her back…and Tory reluctantly retreated to her former spot. As the man's cyclopic glare turned on him, Galen swallowed and gathered his tumbling thoughts.

"Sir, I didn't do anything to you," he began, then, as Tigh opened his mouth, Galen rushed to continue, "I mean, yes, I felt something. A-a-a shock…or something when we touched, but I didn't make you a Cylon, Sir!"

"Like hell you didn't," Tigh snapped back.

"No. Think about it. If you're a Cylon, you've always been one," he stated with as much conviction he could force past his tight throat. "Someone doesn't 'turn' you into one. You're born that way…or created," he faltered, "…or whatever."

"That's a damn lie! I was born on Picon. Flew Vipers in the First War, and served with the Old Man for years!" Despite the vehemence of his protest, an uncertainty flickered in the baleful glare he leveled at Galen.

Hurrying to build on the glimpse of doubt, "I know, Sir. Me too," said Galen. "But we were obviously planted years ago." The XO was shaking his head, but his certitude had visible chinks now. "Colonel, I swear, I don't want this any more than you do," his declaration fervent, "but this is good, Sir. Us _knowing_ is good, that is. They can't use us if we know. Galactica's my home, Sir. I won't let them make me betray her!"

When Tigh lifted a hand and wearily scrubbed at his stubbled cheek, Galen held his breath, nearly sure that he'd gotten through to the man. He slowly exhaled as the Colonel reluctantly shoved the pistol into the service holster at his hip with a resigned grunt.

"Forty years in the Service." Tigh began a slow pace before them. "Forty years. Two wars. Combat." His voice spiking with bitterness, "Locked in that dungeon on New Caprica," he ground out. Then his visible eye widened. "Ellen! My Gods, what about Ellen?" anguish wrung his words out dry.

Galen could see the guilt of killing his wife start to push Tigh's denial forward again. "Sir, it's true. We're Cylons," he flatly said. "And we have been from the start."

Tory stirred again, pulling Galen's attention to where she stood, dark eyes like the wounds of an animal backed, bleeding into a corner.

"No! You're both crazy. I just came to speak to the Chief," her protest spined with fear and pleading.

"About what?" the XO harshly demanded. "And how'd you end up down here anyhow?"

Biting off the desire to tell the man to back off, Galen kept his gaze locked with the woman's, refusing to let hers drop. He could practically see her trying to find some excuse they might believe. The moment she gave up was marked by the slump of her shoulders.

"I—" she licked her lips and tried again, "I had to speak to you. What happened when we touched…what I remembered later. I waited by the hanger bay and was going to follow you," her eyes flickered to Tigh before returning to Galen's, "but, then I saw him trailing behind you. And-and he had his gun," again her gaze slid towards the other man. "He pushed you in here, so I decided to listen," she finished in a rush, then blurted, "Oh Gods, what're we going to do?"

As the XO straightened and proclaimed, "My name is Saul Tigh. I'm an officer in the Colonial Fleet," Galen heard the resolution in his voice and felt it resonate within his own chest as the older man continued, "Whatever else I am, whatever else it means, that's the man I want to be. That's who I _choose_ to be." The words felt like an oath and Galen echoed them in his heart.

He followed the Colonel from the room with only a brief, assessing glance at Tory. Her own alarm seemed to have also been calmed, though not silenced, by the granite purpose of the Colonel's declaration.

At the junction of the corridor, by unspoken agreement, the three split off along different paths to each return to their duties.

They had responsibilities they intended to honor.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this chapter's so short. After the previous extra-long one, I needed time to catch up so didn't include a second POV section as I usually would have. I will continue to post as close to weekly as possible, but I'm now trying to write & edit all within a week and you can expect some delays.

So many thanks for those still coming by to read & review :)


	119. Chapter 119 Choices

Chapter 119 Choices

"Crap," Boomer quietly swore, "where are they?"

Straightening after the fruitless search of the bottom cupboard in the maintenance unit, she sidestepped to the next section and pulled open the top drawer. This was the third—and last—storage alcove…and she was quickly running out of places to look. Examining the contents, Boomer ran her fingers over the carefully arranged tools as if seeking the ones she needed by touch.

_Not here. How can they not be here? _

As she moved down to the next shelf…and the one after that, her frustration grew.

_How could I be so stupid!_

Grinding her teeth, she silently berated herself for leaving the instruments behind on the Heavy Raider when she'd hurried off it for her debrief with Cavil. When she'd gone back later, it was to discover that ship had already been cleaned and prepped for future use…and she hadn't dared ask where the missing items were put. Too many questions would have arisen.

At first she hadn't been worried, sure that the Resurrection Ship's maintenance units would have the ones she needed, but now, after close to three hours of searching, she was becoming desperate. What if she couldn't find them? Her entire plan hinged on successfully removing the inhibitors from Sam and Ellen's two guards, and if she didn't have the right tools…

Boomer shoved the bottom drawer in harder than she'd intended, and as the thud sounded overly loud in the alcove, she jerked around, fearful that someone might be near enough to hear…and come to investigate. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she silently repeated the story she'd worked up to explain her reason for being in this section of the ship. Unfortunately, it sounded dubious even to herself, better by far not have to use it at all.

Listening intently for the tread of shoes or clank of Centurions, she tried to calm her racing heart and fought back the insipid headache that seemed a constant now that she'd discovered the truth about the missing five humanoid models. When the only sound was the steady thrum of the ship's systems, she unclenched her jaw and took a slow turn around the room. They had to be here somewhere! If she failed now…

_I can do this. Simon showed me how. I can do it,_ she silently chanted.

Boomer forced down the growing panic. There were too many people depending upon her: the two hostages hidden below, the rebels on their three basestars, and she had to believe that once they learned of Cavil's deceptions, the Fours and Fives would _also_ join with her. But her plan relied on being able to smuggle Sam and Ellen off the Resurrection Ship.

And they first had to get by their Centurion guards.

After leaving Ellen and Sam the night before, Boomer had sought a place to think through all she'd learned from the pair…and consider what she might do with this new knowledge. It wasn't until the next morning when she'd met with Cavil and the representatives of the Fours and Fives to cast a vote on how to handle the rebels that an idea had finally come to mind. She'd been working out the details since.

The vote itself had gone surprisingly well. Despite the words of the Four she'd met earlier, Boomer had still been relieved at how agreeable the others were to opening negotiations between the models. Cavil had initially blown so angry over the removal of the Centurions' inhibitors that she had been sure he'd find a way to convince the Fours and Fives to follow his lead, yet they'd cast their votes to meet to discuss the rebels' concerns…and Boomer had quickly added her own to make it a majority.

She'd been prepared for Cavil to go off on to one of his biting tirades and had been disconcerted when he'd calmly accepted the three to one count against him. At his suggestion that he take a Heavy Raider and relay the decision to Natalie's group, Boomer had suspected that he was planning to somehow sabotage the talks. So, when he had also suggested that _she_ fly over separately and see if she could 'talk sense' into some of the other Eights, she'd leaped at the chance. Not only could she make sure that the true results of the vote were relayed, but it would also give her the opportunity to pass on to the rebels the identity of two of the final five unknown models.

…And to learn how to remove the inhibitors.

The plan she'd devised would only work if she could somehow swing the prisoners' Centurion guards to her side, that or at least shut them down long enough to escape.

When she had landed the Heavy Raider on the basestar, Boomer had initially been greeted with hostility. She'd expected that, knowing that her sisters resented her for backing Cavil rather than holding firm with the rest of her own line. But once she'd explained about Sam and Ellen, they'd quickly pulled in others to hear her story: several Twos, a Six…and Simon.

Boomer refused to examine why it had been more difficult to meet Simon's skeptical look than all the rest combined. But she had managed to keep her voice steady as she had related her discovery a second time. When Simon's expression had sharpened with possibilities, Boomer had finally begun to believe that she could pull this off, find a way to heal the division that threatened them all. And maybe remove Cavil from his place in power. It was time that the Cylon race veered from the insane path of vendetta that the Ones had forced them upon; she'd said as much to Simon and had been rewarded by his approving nod.

After that, the Four had hurriedly demonstrated for her how to remove the telencephalic inhibitor, obviously concerned that Cavil would grow suspicious if she were overlong talking with the Eights. The actual procedure was relatively simple. Once Boomer had proven that she could do it, she'd bid the others farewell and moved to return to the flight deck. When Simon fell in at her side as an escort, she had given his dark profile a sidelong look, taking in his contemplative expression, her eyes lingering on the line of his lips.

She'd missed him. And until that moment hadn't realized just how much she had missed their discussions…and his suggestive glances. In the wake of her defection, she had thought she'd crushed the seedlings of that attraction between them, but when Simon had caught her look and had given her a brief smile in return, her cheeks had heated in response. Pulling her gaze forward, Boomer had tried to still the quiver of awareness of how close he walked at her side, knowing that there was no time for them to talk now.

Pausing at the base of the Raider's ramp, she had turned to face him.

"Remember, counterclockwise first," he'd said.

"Yeah, I got it."

Then, before she could turn away to board the Raider, he had pressed the two instruments into her palms, his own warm as he'd given her hands an encouraging squeeze. Neither had said anything further. Maybe later she could explore the possibilities that had rekindled between them.

But that would have to wait.

Now, as her search of the Resurrection Ship's storage units continued, she cursed herself for not taking better care of Simon's gift.

In the second to last drawer she came across something unexpected. The black cartridge seemed out of place among the tools and she pocketed it to examine later. Then, staring at the final drawer's contents, Boomer's stomach clenched and the panic she'd shoved away earlier came flooding back.

They weren't here.

Neither the electrostatic disecculator, nor the circuit coadjutor were among the hundreds of instruments she'd examined.

Was there the chance she could substitute a different tool? Jury-rig something? She turned back and pulled open the closest cupboard, staring at the assorted gadgets that she didn't have the vaguest idea how to use. No. It was impossible. Shaking her head, she realized that even if she knew what any of _these_ did, Simon hadn't explained how the instruments he'd given her worked, only how to use them. She simply didn't know enough to find an alternate tool.

Heedless now of being discovered, Boomer slammed the drawer closed and rushed from the alcove and back into the main section of this level. She paused, eyes adjusting to the lower lighting and taking in the rows of dark and empty birthing tanks. Her breath hitched as she noticed that each had several compartments inset into their exterior sides. Jerky strides carried her forward and Boomer's hand hesitated before sliding out the top small drawer. A dim florescent glow within lit the row of dark grey cartridges that mocked her surge of hope. With trembling hands, she moved on to the second drawer and slid it out.

They gleamed.

Boomer could swear that the two instruments gleamed, reflecting the light more than the five others that nestled in their brackets beside them. Carefully easing the two free, she turned them in her hands, comparing their lines to the ones she'd mislaid. They were identical. Releasing a shuddering breath, she clasped them tight.

She could do this. She could still do it.

With one hurdle behind her, Boomer strode off with more confidence to find the next. One level up, she stepped into the corridor, the precious tools now held obscured by her palm and forearm against the possibility of meeting one of the others. Luck was definitely shifting her way, Boomer thought as a lone Centurion hiss/clanked its way towards her along the otherwise deserted hallway.

Halting it with a raised palm, "Have you been given a task?" she questioned, not wanting to risk another model coming in search of his missing minion. At the negative swivel of its head, "Good. Follow me," then she quickly tacked on, "…please," before she turned and led the way back to the lower level. The alcoves there seemed a more private place, less likelihood that she'd be caught altering the Centurion.

Choosing the farthest unit, and whispering a prayer to an entity she wasn't sure she believed in, Boomer turned to give the Centurion a scrutinizing once over. It stood with the red glow of its eye steadily regarding her, awaiting her command. She could only add another prayer that after she finished, it was as willing to heed her orders.

Stepping close, "Please hold still, I need to access your transcapacitor," she said, pausing a beat before lifting her left hand towards its chest. When Simon had shown her where to access the inhibitor, she'd been surprised at its location, assuming that something that controlled the Centurion's higher cognitive functions would be situated within its metal brainpan.

Now, sliding her hand into the crevice under its shoulder shroud, Boomer crooked her fingers, feeling along the inner side of the protective plating for the tiny pressure button. There! A firm squeeze and she heard the snick of the latching mechanism's release. A push with her palm and the upper chest cover slid down over the lower, exposing the circuitry at the literal heart of the Centurion's anatomy.

Boomer raised the circuit coadjutor and, positioning its tip, slowly worked at the 'screws' that held the revealed inhibitor secure. As she finished on one side and switched to the other, she realized that it might have been possible—maybe—to find another tool that would've done the same job. After all, despite its name, the coadjutor really _did_ appear to be just a fancy screwdriver. But, as she laid it and the screws on the decking and retrieved the second instrument, she knew nothing could have replaced the electrostatic disecculator. With her left hand, she grasped the inhibitor and, mindful of Simon's instructions, rotated it counterclockwise once before applying the forked end of the tool into two slots. Twisting the butt end one click at a time, she watched as the 'charge' monitor at the center of the inhibitor drained away. As it did, the crimson of the Centurion's 'eye' dimmed to slowly blinking amber. Once the indicator appeared to read empty, she gave it an additional ten-count before removing the desecculator.

Assuming the inhibitor's charge had been fully drained, all she had to do now was pull it free. But, if by some chance she'd failed to properly empty the unit, it would explode, probably shredding most of her hand in the process.

Reminding herself that Simon had said that that was the remotest of possibilities, especially if she took the necessary time to complete the discharge of the unit, Boomer gripped the cylinder and quickly twisted clockwise this time and pulled. The thing popped out with the smallest hiss of protest.

Clutching the oblong of metal at her side, she closed her eyes and breathed. She wanted to laugh…shout! Instead, Boomer let the slave unit fall from her fingers and the bare _tink_ sound it made as it struck the metal floor seemed incongruent with the damage the thing had caused. For she couldn't help thinking that if the Centurions that had created the humanoid models had had a say in the matter, there never would have been a Second Cylon War.

As she opened her eyes and scrutinized the still form before her, Boomer certainly hoped that was the case. Natalie's people had assured her it was, but if she was mistaken, if _this_ Centurion decided otherwise, Boomer and the others were never getting off the Resurrection Ship. With that outcome, they'd also be lucky to avoid being boxed once Cavil was finished with them.

One more thing to do here and then she'd know. But time was quickly slipping away and there were still the inhibitors to be removed from Sam and Ellen's guards, she reminded herself. Best get this one done and then she'd see what she truly faced.

Inserting the disecculator's tines into identical slots behind where the inhibitor had been seated, she reversed the power flow from the tool and, lifting her gaze, saw the amber eye change back to the ruddy glow of an active Centurion. Briskly now, she removed the tool and shifted the breastplate upwards and felt it latch into place. Then she took a pace back and waited.

At first nothing happened.

The Centurion was still except for the back and forth motion of its eye. Chewing on the already raw side of her cheek, Boomer wished now that she'd asked Simon what came next. But it was too late for that, so she began to silently count down from sixty. She'd give it a minute. Maybe it needed some time to reboot…or whatever. As she reached zero, she shifted uncertainly and then froze when the Centurion's gaze abruptly stopped, appearing to be focused on her now.

"Um… Can you hear me?" she hesitantly asked.

"Affirmative." It's voice sounded overly loud and Boomer had to restrain the urge to retreat several steps. Locking her knees, "Do you have a name?" she asked, then felt stupid. Of course it didn't. Maybe the original Centurion models had, but this one was undoubtedly assembled with the inhibitor already installed. It had probably never existed as a self-determining entity before.

So when it responded, "SX5998G6Beta," she was startled.

Ok, it had a designation, but did it understand what a name was? What it meant to _have_ a name? Staring at this _being_ made up of parts and programs, Boomer grasped why humans found it so difficult to accept that it was a sentient individual composed of the synergy of its components. Boomer was its descendent in so many ways, yet she was finding it hard to push past the notion that the Centurion was more than just a _thing_. Then she remembered the strange feeling of affection she'd felt towards the captured Raider. How, even though she didn't know what she was then, there had still been a connection. Looking at the metallic man before her now, she sought to form another.

"You have an…identification, but that's not really a name," she started. "A name is _who_ you are, instead of what you are. An individual. Someone separate with value." She searched the figure for some sign of understanding, but was frustrated by its total lack of body language. She continued, "You can choose your own name now." Boomer's brows rose slightly as she found the path to what she needed to explain. "Choices. You have choices now. The thing I took out of you, the telencephalic inhibitor, it was put into you without your consent. Now you can choose. Do you understand?"

As the 'eye' began to oscillate again, Boomer could only hope that it was a sign that the Centurion was considering her words. And hope that whatever tinkering Cavil had done was limited to the inhibitors, and once removed, the Cylon would be able to adjust to thinking on its own. She wished again that there had been time to talk with Simon about what to expect, how to handle the freed Centurion. She was still reproaching herself for not asking more questions when the figure before her shifted. It was only a slight tilt of its head, and yet it seemed to convey the sense that it was pondering something.

Then it spoke. "I am Choice."

Boomer found herself blinking up at it in confusion. Was it asking her? Did it think she had called it Choices? No. It had definitely used the singular form…and the possessive, which might be even more important. It was referring to itself as an individual now.

Its next words shouldn't have surprised her, but they did.

"What is your name?"

Its uninflected tone made the Centurion sound bored, but somehow Boomer found herself unsettled by the question.

Who was she?

Who was _she?_

Was she Sharon Valerii? The daughter of Shannon and Dwayne? Or was she Boomer? The Colonial Raptor pilot that had tried to kill her commanding officer? She was also but one of many Eights, so what made her different? Staring up at the Centurion, she suddenly realized that she wasn't really Sharon, Boomer…or even just another Eight. Not any longer. So, who was she? What was her name?

Knowing that it—that _Choice_—was waiting…and suddenly finding that she needed time she didn't have right now to answer truthfully, she fell back on the one she'd been mentally calling herself because it had never been used by another.

"Call me Boomer," she said, then added, "For now, at least."

Setting aside her own issues, she focused on the task to hand. Now that the Centurion had shown itself to be ready to think for itself, she had to convince it to follow her orders instead of just assuming that it would. Deciding that the best way to do that was to treat it as an equal, she began by relating how the Ones had tricked the Centurions into letting him install the inhibitors. Then she gave an abbreviated version of the events gleaned from Sam and Ellen along with her own knowledge of their current circumstances. She was surprised when Choice would occasionally shift or quirk its head to the side. That is, until she realized that it was mirroring her own movements. It was vaguely amusing, and Boomer found herself suddenly tempted to stand on one foot or pat her head to see if Choice would mimic those actions, too. She pushed the notion aside as she remembered that they were up against a clock here.

Once she'd finished providing as much information as she deemed absolutely necessary, "Do…do you have any questions?" she hesitantly asked.

Again Choice seemed to take its time before answering. As the seconds ticked by, Boomer wondered if she should say more, something further in hopes of swaying it to their cause. As it shifted, assuming the Centurion's standard position of readiness, she had the impression that it was bracing for action.

"You have a plan."

Again the flatness of its words made it difficult for her to discern whether it was asking a question or making a statement. She answered anyways, proceeding to layout what came next and Choice's part in it. Truthfully, she hadn't really figured on any specific actions for the Centurion. The removal of its inhibitor was meant to be a trial run before she attempted the same on the two guards. Now she quickly revised her plan to include Choice, hoping that she wasn't making a mistake.

"Will you help me…help us," she asked, knowing that the removal of the inhibitor gave the Centurion the option to refuse, and its decision of its name made her aware that it recognized that.

As its eye ceased the back and forth motion and again fixated on her, Boomer tensed.

"Yes."

Simple and straightforward. No qualifiers like a human might make. And yet it hadn't answered with the detached 'Affirmative' as before. She didn't know whether to feel reassured—or worried—at how quickly Choice seemed to be coming into its sense of self. At least for now it appeared that she had made another ally. Knowing that she was going to need all those she could get going up against Cavil, Boomer decided to put her unease aside.

Next step, see if things went as smoothly with the Centurions below. Quickly disposing of the stagnant cylinder and screws, her hand brushed the hard outline in her pocket. Ignoring the impulse to take time to change into an outfit with suitable pockets to hide the long instruments, Boomer palmed the precious tools and led Choice from the alcove to the arching chamber of barren tubs. A few minutes there and then she moved on to the far stairwell.

She asked the Centurion wait at the top and made her way as quietly as possible down the steps. Pausing at the bottom, Boomer cautiously peered around the corner to make sure that the way was clear; last thing she could afford was to meet up with Cavil or one of his brethren returning from a visit to the prisoners.

The hallway was thankfully deserted.

Feeling the press of time, she climbed the stairs two at a time. A wave to signal Choice to follow her and she descended again, flinching at how loud the hiss/clank of its tread echoed within the stairwell. Too bad he didn't come with a silent mode, she thought, then realized she'd mentally dubbed _it_ as a _he_. Somehow she doubted that Choice cared one way or the other. Maybe she'd ask him sometime. Sometime when they weren't hurrying to stage a coup that is.

Halting before the door, she hesitated. What if Cavil was inside? There wasn't any way to tell. A glance at the tall figure by her side made Boomer wonder if he'd follow an order to shoot his previous master? Hoping she wouldn't have to find out, she crossed the fingers on her left hand and touched the panel with her right. The click sounded and she pushed the door inward.

Releasing her held breath, Boomer gave the startled pair a tense smile as she entered with Choice a pace behind. Taking in the two trays of partially eaten food, she swallowed, uncomfortably aware of how close she'd come to meeting up with whichever One had delivered their meal.

As their gaze flickered from her to the form at her heels, Boomer's smile widened.

"I did it." Reading the confusion in their eyes, she gestured the Centurion forward. "This is Choice. I removed his inhibitor. Now he's decided to help us," she explained. When they still looked unsure, Boomer's grin slipped. "I can free you." Turning to the flanking guards, "I can free all of you," she fervently said.

The scrape of a chair and Ellen's sharp, "Sam!" gave her a moment's warning before the Centurions snapped together, blocking the door. She spun to face the ex-rebel leader, one hand waving him to stop.

"Wait, Sam." She caught his frustrated eyes. "Each Centurion has a device, an inhibitor that Cavil stuck in them. I can take it out of these two. But you've got to wait a little longer. I've a plan, but I need you to be patient."

His hands flexing at his side, "I want outta here. I want to make Cavil pay," Sam fumed.

"And we will," said Ellen, rising to join him. "Let Boomer tell us her plans, and then we can go from there."

As he retreated a few steps, Boomer heard the Centurions move and assumed that they had shifted back to their original posts. She lifted her other hand, showing the pair the tools.

"I've got to convince these two," a twitch of her head back towards the guards, "to let me work on them. Probably best if you both sit down. Don't make any threatening moves," she urged, hoping that the Centurions would be as cooperative as Choice had been.

As Sam sullenly returned to his chair, Boomer considered how quick tempered he seemed. During their short encounter back on Caprica, and with what she'd heard about Samuel Anders since, she'd thought he was a pretty laid back guy. And besides, anyone that could put up with Starbuck needed an almost limitless font of patience. Yet she'd seen little of that in _this_ man.

Remembering her own difficult time adjusting, she supposed that the realization of his true nature would've had an impact on his behavior. And a brief glance around the spartan cell reminded her that he'd been cooped up here for a long time now. Between the enforced inactivity, the discovery that he was a Cylon and the taunting lies Cavil had told him, it shouldn't be surprising that Anders was wound so tightly.

Hoping to mollify him, "Once we're on the rebels' basestar, you can tell everyone what the Ones did. Expose Cavil's lies and even the Fours and Fives will come over to our side," she said.

He held her gaze for a moment, then said, "After all of this," starting to swing his arm in an encompassing gesture, but then aborting the move as he glanced towards the guards. Boomer saw him make the effort to tone down his anger, but it still spiked his next words. "After what Cavil's done, he's mine." And she heard the icy resolution and shivered.

Uncomfortable with Ander's thirst for retribution, Boomer shifted her gaze to the other chair and she returned Ellen's bemused smile with a tight one of her own. If the revelations had changed the older woman, she didn't know enough about her to be able to tell the difference…and it really didn't matter.

Feeling the passing seconds like a countdown, she outlined her plan to the pair. They were silent until it was obvious that she'd finished, then asked a few clarifying questions. All told, it had taken less than ten minutes, but a part of Boomer wished, despite feeling a growing pressure to hurry, that it had taken longer, for now she was faced with another decisive hurdle.

Steeling herself, she turned from the humanoid pair at the table and approached the metal ones by the door, choosing the guard on the left to address first.

"Please hold still, I need to access your transcapacitor," she said, repeating the same words she'd used with Choice earlier. But this time, as she raised her hand towards the junction between its shoulder and chest plating, the Centurion snapped up a hand in warning. "Lower your hand," she commanded, then ground her teeth when the guard didn't obey.

_Just frakking great. Now what? _

She'd been afraid of this, that they might interpret her actions as a potential attack. And they'd already shown that they wouldn't follow her orders. So now what?

As she heard Choice move to her side, Boomer realized that she'd almost forgotten him, so used to the presence of the Centurions about the ship that it was easy to ignore them. He didn't say anything now, not vocally at least, but she guessed that he must have communicated to the other somehow, for it abruptly retracted its hand back to its side. She supposed it made sense for there to be short wave capability between the Cylons. Boomer was more surprised at Choice taking the initiative himself.

"Um, thanks," she offered to him before shifting her attention back to figure in front of her. This time it remained still and she quickly followed the protocol laid out by Simon. Despite the growing sense of time slipping away, she was careful to give the disecculator the chance to fully drain the charge before risking removing the inhibitor.

One down, one to go.

She didn't even bother addressing the second Centurion, just asked Choice if he would speak to it for her. And like that, both guards were freed. Of course, that also meant it was now up to her to convince them to release Sam and Ellen.

Or maybe not.

Returning to the prisoners, she laid the cylinders and precious tools on the table between them.

"Look…I've got to go," she anxiously said, the fear that Cavil was about to walk in on them growing with each passing moment. At the confused look the pair exchanged, she repeated, "I've got to go, Cavil's expecting me and we can't risk him wondering were I've been. Make nice with our new friends here. Explain what Cavil and the Ones did to them and what _we're_ trying to do." As Sam opened his mouth to protest, Boomer hastily added, "I'll meet with Cavil and then be back soon. Then we can make our way to the flight deck just before we head to the rendezvous point. With the others busy prepping for the jump, I should be able to sneak you aboard a Heavy Raider. We launch…and we're on Natalie's basestar before Cavil even knows we're gone."

"Ok, we'll do it your way," agreed Sam as he rose.

"We need the guards on our side," she warned, and was reassured by his brief nod of understanding.

Returning to the door, she gave the guards an assessing look. Like Choice, their eyes had stopped the to/fro sweep and Boomer could only assume that they were contemplating the internal changes within their systems. Neither attempted to block her as she palmed the datapad and opened the door. She was aware of Choice exiting behind her and also heard the click of the lock resetting as she strode purposefully away.

Another box ticked off her To Do checklist.

She had one other thing to follow-up on, then she was due to meet with Cavil, to see what the One needed from her while not giving away that she was making plans of her own. Her palms were damp again at the thought of how much rode on her ability to mislead her prior mentor. Abruptly wishing that she'd been better at Triad, Boomer counted the stairs as she climbed, reminding herself that there was no reason for him to suspect anything. Sure, during her debrief after visiting the rebels, she had noticed an undercurrent in his tone, but it hadn't struck her as anger. No, it was more like he was holding back on showing his annoyance, probably at her failure to sway any of the Eights to his side.

She was pretty sure that if he _had_ discovered her visit to the pair below, he would have quickly moved to silence her. That's what she told herself at least. It didn't do much to calm the racing of her heart as she paused just before the archway entrance to Cavil's meeting room.

"Please, wait three seconds before you come in," she murmured to Choice, not wanting anyone inside to connect the Centurion to her.

He didn't respond, but did stay as she moved on and into the chamber to find Cavil just dismissing a Four. The tall man avoided her eyes as he exited and Boomer felt the unease in her chest tighten another notch. Forcing herself not to gnaw on her cheek, she approached the One and gave him a nod in greeting, then waited.

Cavil's expression was unreadable as he flatly said, "I've decided to board one of the basestars. You'll come with me."

_What?_

Confused, she glanced around the room. "Why not just stay here? We'll be as safe on the Resurrection Ship when we jump as one of the basestars."

"I'm—_we're—_not taking the Resurrection Ship." Her eyes widened, and he gave a grim smile before he explaining. "We show the rebels just who is in charge. _We_ control the Resurrection Ships and Hub. Let them huff existential all they want, but if they're willing to trade blows, then they can damned well face the consequences."

What he said made sense, but Boomer still felt like he wasn't telling her everything and the spiked tension in her chest made the pretence that she believed him difficult. Willing herself not to look over to where she'd seen Choice take up a position just inside the arch, she gave what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug.

"I'm sure it won't come to that," she earnestly said. "The Eights I spoke with aren't looking for a war, they just want to be heard."

"And they will be," he said, "in about thirty minutes."

Boomer stiffened. She'd hoped for longer. Mentally counting off how long it would take to get back to the hidden room and lead her entourage unseen to the flight deck, she knew it would be cutting it close, especially if they were having any difficulty talking their guards around to their side. Then again, maybe having Cavil off the Resurrection Ship would actually make it easier to smuggle the pair away. The Heavy Raiders all had FTL capabilities, so she and the others could actually jump to the rendezvous point on their own.

Her locked muscles had just started to relax when Cavil added, "You'll be with me."

Trying not to betray her dismay, "I doubt I'll be of much use," she stated.

"You might yet be able to convince some of those simpletons to see 'the light'," he said, using quote-fingers to mock the religious reasonings of the Sixes and Twos.

"I don—"

"Enough! You're going," he snapped out, impatiently severing her protest. Then, "I want you at my side," he said, his tone calmer but the look he gave her forbidding further argument.

"Of course," forcing her hand to settle lightly on his arm, "you know I'm always at your side," she said, giving him a suggestive smile. Something flickered within his eyes, but was gone before Boomer could decipher its meaning. His lips curved up and he returned her look with a knowing one of his own.

"Perhaps later we can explore your side more…thoroughly," he said, "but now I've a few last things to attend to. We leave in fifteen minutes."

Giving his arm a last squeeze, she said, "In that case, I'll head down and make sure the raider's ready to go."

Moving away after his nod of dismissal, Boomer strode from the chamber and down the hall, only daring to breath once she heard the sound of a Centurion trailing at a distance behind her. She turned right along another corridor and, finding an empty alcove, entered with Choice only a few steps behind by that point.

"Change of plans," she said, addressing the Centurion. Tapping her fingers on her thighs, she ran through their options. Really, there was only one. She cleared her throat. "I need you to go below. Take our late addition to Sam and Ellen." Boomer frowned, frustrated at having to leave so much in Choice's hands, but it couldn't be helped. She wet her lips and continued, "Um, tell them that I have to go with Cavil. That they'll need to make their way to the flight deck without me." Giving the Cylon an assessing look, "Can you fly a Heavy Raider?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Ok, then. Uh, wait until our raider—Cavil's and mine—leaves, then get everyone else on another and jump directly to the rendezvous. Go to the Six that calls herself Natalie. She'll know what to do," she instructed. Then, "Ask for Simon if you have any problems," she added, hoping that the Four would understand that she hadn't had a choice about accompanying Cavil. Pulling her focus back to the tall form before her, "Do you understand?" she asked, wishing again that she could read his body language.

"I do," Choice replied, and then lifted a hand to grip her elbow. Boomer flinched, startled, as the cold digits closed about her flesh. The Centurion then flatly said, "The One that calls himself Cavil was lying. There were discernible changes in his physical readings."

Boomer swallowed as she considered Choice's warning. It hadn't occurred to her that the Centurions had the capability to read her, or any of the humans or humanoid models in fact. She knew of course that many of them—_all?—_were equipped with infrared vision, so it made sense that they could 'see' the physiological indications when someone lied. She had just never considered that use of that ability. Boomer was willing to bet that Cavil had, and she suddenly wondered if he's had his own 'pet' Centurion monitoring her all along?

At this late date, it hardly mattered. Her course was set and there wasn't time to worry about it now. Whatever the One was hiding, all she could do was ensure that his secrets were brought out into the open and give the rebels what warning she could.

Wetting her lips, "Right. Tell Sam to warn the rebels that Cavil's up to something," she said, wishing that she could be more specific. It would have to do. "I have to go now and prep my own ship. Go below and help the others," she directed, then hesitated, uncertain how to express gratitude to the Cylon and wondered if he could properly understand it anyway? Giving a mental shrug, "Um, thank you, Choice," she awkwardly said, and then hurried off in the direction of the flight deck, knowing that she had to beat Cavil there.

When she peeled off on the level of the launch bay, Boomer heard Choice's tread continue down the stairwell and could only hope that Ellen and Sam listened to the Centurion. It was imperative that they waited until Cavil was off the ship. If Sam acted precipitously...

She could feel the acidic burn as her gut twisted. So frakking much could go wrong!

What if the guards wouldn't let Sam and Ellen leave the cell? Would Choice be able to override their programming? And Cavil had changed his plans once, if he should decide to delay or to stay and send a surrogate One in his place?

Reminding herself that it was out of her hands, Boomer paused to calm her breathing before striding across to confront the Five that was in charge of the deck.

"Which ship's assigned to Cavil?" she demanded, ignoring the poorly concealed scorn in the man's expression. He didn't bother to answer, just pointed to the third Heavy Raider from the left.

Swiveling without giving any further acknowledgment to the Five, she kept her steps measured as she did a circuit about the large shuttle, checking its outer systems with a practiced eye. Completing her walk-around, she climbed the ramp and moved forward to the cockpit. A Centurion was already locked into place in the left seat, its 'arm' connected via a port into the ship's systems. She frowned, preferring to pilot the ship herself rather than just act as a passenger. Weighing the pros and cons, she decided to let the Centurion take lead and she slid into the second seat to run through her own internal checklist. It wouldn't hurt to confirm for herself the ship's integrity. Besides, it gave her something to do other than worry.

The sound of footsteps followed by the heavy tread of Centurions announced the remaining passengers' arrival. She twisted around and peered back along the narrow aisle to see Cavil, a couple of Fours and a Five she guessed to be Doral securing themselves in the seats that lined the aft section of the raider. Two Centurions had taken up station standing in slots specially designed to accommodate their frames.

Meeting Cavil's hooded gaze, "Ready?" she asked. At his nod, she started to turn back, but heard the noise of a late boarder. As a third Centurion reached the top of the ramp and moved to an open position to lock in, Boomer fought to keep the shock from her face. She shifted quickly around, feeling queasy as she wondered what had gone wrong, for she was sure that the Heavy Raider's final occupant was Choice.

"Close her up and let's go," she curtly ordered the Centurion pilot. As she settled back into her seat, fingers fumbling to tighten the restraining straps, Boomer's mind raced with the possibilities for why Choice was onboard rather than with the others. Her biggest question was whether he had relayed her revised plan; the delay in his boarding suggested that he had at least tried. But if so, then why was he here? Had he gone to Cavil instead?

_Frak this!_

Boomer wanted nothing more in that moment than to confront the Centurion and demand answers, but as the thrust of the raider's engines pushed her deeper into her seat, she knew how impossible that was. She was going to have to trust Choice's word that he was on her side, and that whatever his reasons for separating from the others, he must feel that they were valid. The frustration and fear of not knowing gnawed at what little confidence she had in her own leadership. With her hands clasped together in her lap, Boomer silently cursed. _She frakking hated this!_ Hated knowing that the responsibility for the plan was hers, and yet she had so little control over its success.

A distant corner of her mind wondered if this was what Adama felt like as he stood in command in CIC? If so, then he could keep it…and Natalie, too. Boomer didn't want this clenched-gut feeling that apparently came with power; she'd experienced enough of it with the failure of hers and Caprica's hopes for New Caprica. Well, whatever was to come, the pieces she had set in motion were rolling and there wasn't anything she could do now to direct their course.

Accepting that she was only a passenger now, some of the tension eased from her muscles and Boomer settled back for the rest of the short ride over to the nearest basestar.

Less then twenty minutes later and she was in what passed for the basestar's command chamber. Fours and Fives were scattered about the room with their hands immersed in the datastream. Cavil and another One were discussing the ship's readiness a few feet away, leaving Boomer alone with her thoughts. As her gaze shifted again to the Centurions aligned along one wall, her focus narrowed to one. She was certain that it was Choice. Something very subtle way in which he stood; it was only because she knew to look for it, and that he was positioned beside the others, that she could pick out the difference.

On disembarking the Heavy Raider, she'd tried once to separate from Cavil, desperate for a moment with Choice to find out what was happening. But her mentor had insisted that she stay with him, and at the quelling look he'd given her, Boomer hadn't risked pushing the matter…or another attempt since.

Boomer was willing to admit that the Ones had always intimidated her. A part of her had been even drawn to the sense of surety that Cavil exuded, seeking something—someone—that appeared unmoved by the universe's perverse actions. But now, as her eyes shifted to him, all she felt was dread. Her instincts had been whispering that he was up to something, and since Choice's warning, every word from his mouth and every look Cavil gave her added to her premonition that the Ones had plans that bode ill for the rest of them.

Her attention was pulled further to the right when Doral lifted his head and announced that the other basestars were ready to jump.

"Finally!" Cavil moved over to stand beside Boomer and lowered his hand onto the datapad.

As she followed suit, she flicked a sideways glance at the One then away when the flow of stream infused her mind. Even as she opened her awareness, Boomer was careful to guard her thoughts, knowing how simple it would be to let slip her own secret. Reaching out, she felt the synergy of the organic and synthetic components of the vessel encompass her and shivered at the first caress of the Hybrid's consciousness.

It was so tempting to just let go, relax into the warm embrace of the collective, but Boomer resisted the impulse. Then she felt the surge of power and moment of union as the great ship jumped.

The loss of the connection as the basestar recoalesced carried the grief of separation, and it took Boomer a moment to bring her scattered focus back to the space that surrounded them. Through the ship's sensors, she could 'see' the staggered wedge of the rebels' basestars where they waited. She reached out, searching for a smaller contact. There was were only the rebels and the five basestars of Cavil's group.

It was too soon, she told herself. Hadn't she stressed to Sam not to come until he was sure that Cavil was safely away? Tonguing the sore tissue on the inside of her cheek, Boomer tried to find reassurance in that thought. Movement within the datastream distracted her as the other four accompanying basestars slid forward to flank the rebels.

_What were they doing? Why would they…_

Her questions broke off as she 'heard' the command to fire go out along the datastream.

"NO!" Shock ripped the protest from her throat without conscious thought.

She spun to face the figure beside her, fighting the double-vision imposed by the connection to the datastream.

"What are you doing!" she shouted.

Cavil didn't even bother to look at her as he answered, "What I have to. They're tainted by the humans. It's time to cut the diseased flesh away."

Staring at him in horror, the realization struck with the fangs of a viper.

"You never planned to talk. To negotiate. It was all a—" she choked as the depths of his deception really registered. "You used me," her accusation barely above a whisper.

"Of course I used you," he snapped. "You're a tool, nothing more. Haven't you learned even _that_ simple lesson after all these weeks?"

His derisive words hammered at her and Boomer swallowed bile at how blind she'd been. Cavil was right. He'd never tried to hide his belief that she was—that all of them are—nothing but machines, cogs within the great Cylon infrastructure. Disposable. Replaceable. Sam and Ellen's revelations had just confirmed how little value the Ones placed on any single individual.

Reports of explosions blooming across the spindly arms of the rebels' basestars drew her attention back to the stream. Her siblings were dying, really dying, and the feeling of impotence choked the breath from her lungs. Through the shared stream of consciousness, she could feel each of their deaths, like stars that flashed and then were gone, their lights extinguished forever.

Rage at the pointlessness of their loss suffused her. There had to be a way to end this massacre. Boomer didn't bother trying to plead with the One, instead, she sought the core of the basestar. Sought the tendril of the Hybrid's being and grasped it.

_STOP! _she screamed and felt the Hybrid respond.

The outflow of missiles ceased as it answered to her command, and Boomer knew a moment of relief as the other basestars halted their torrent of fire, too, as she felt confusion echoing throughout the stream. Then her ears rang as she reeled away from console, the backhand to her head sending her stumbling back a step.

"Fool!" Cavil yelled, his face redden in rage. "You have no say in what happens here." Then, flinging his hands up, "Gods, I'm surrounded by idiots!" he ranted, his gaze raking the other models that had jerked around at the sound of his blow. As each quickly resumed their duties, Boomer understood that they weren't even questioning his order to attack, the Fours and Fives had known all along what the Ones intended to do about the rebel 'problem'. The vote had been a sham, they had decided without consulting her. Had in fact used her to mislead the rebels as to their true intentions.

The pounding in her head grew worse.

Boomer stumbled again, this time from the impact of warheads striking Cavil's basestar. Hope stirred again. She'd distracted them long enough for Natalie's group to return fire. If she could do it again, it might give the rebel ships time to jump away.

Raising her voice, "Cavil lied. He lied to all of us," she said. "The Five—" Her teeth rattled with the force of his strike. As she lifted her arm to ward off the next, she saw his eyes widen at something off to the side. Before Boomer could glance that way, she was yanked in front of Cavil. Thudding impacts drove her forward into his chest and they fell together to the metal decking.

Around them, Boomer could hear the sound of projectile rounds striking metal and fought to make sense of what had just happened. She tried to slid her hands forward, to lift herself off the body beneath her, but her muscles didn't seem to be getting the message. Even raising her head was beyond her and Cavil's hoarse gasps and curses filled her ear. Then a loud clang sounded to her side and she was able to shift her line of sight just enough to make out the bullet-riddled chassis of a Centurion sprawled out by the wall. As the pieces fell into place, the pain held at bay by shock swamped her and Boomer gasped in agony. The flaring torment worsened as hands rolled her off the One and onto her back.

Choice had tried to protect her. He'd shot at Cavil as the One had threatened her again. Only Cavil had reacted with the lifelong instincts of a coward, using her as a shield against the attack.

There wouldn't be another.

Boomer had glimpsed the fading of the Centurion's eye to amber and then had seen it blink out. Choice was as surely dead as she was. He'd just beaten her there. For Boomer could feel the blood filling her lungs, could taste the copper tang on her lips and knew that she only had a few last moments to rail at her failures.

She was done. Her body broken and Cavil had won. She didn't even have enough breath left to warn the Fours and Fives of his duplicity.

"A Heavy Raider just jumped in. It's heading for the rebel basestars." Doral's voice sounded overly harsh in a chamber silent except for her ragged gasps.

Rising from the floor with a pained grunt, Cavil said, "Let it go." Then, as another rebel barrage shook the decking, "Jump us clear," he ordered, and just as quickly amend it, "Tell the others to stay and finish them," he added.

Maybe she hadn't failed, Boomer thought, realizing who had to be on the rogue Heavy. And she could tell by the way he gripped his side that Cavil hadn't gone unscathed afterall. Perhaps sensing her regard, the One leaned close enough to ensure that only she would hear his words.

"I know whose on the Raider. You think you found them on your own? You were meant to," he mocked. "You should've taken them over with the rest of the bleeding hearts when I first sent you before. I planned on making it a clean sweep." Boomer swallowed bile and blood as she realized how thoroughly she'd been played. But he wasn't done yet. "Took you long enough to figure out that any order that you said came from me would be obeyed by the Centurions. Guess you're not as stupid as I was beginning to think." As he straightened, "Just stupid enough," he spitefully added.

Boomer closed her eyes against his cruel look as she felt the wave of dislocation that signaled an FTL jump. Sam and the others were away. Maybe not safe, but out of Cavil's hands. That would have to be enough, she told herself, for she was so tired. The cold of the decking had invaded her body and all she felt now was the beckoning of its chill as the pain receded before it.

It was hard to breath now. But she opened her eyes and calmly locked with Cavil's as she forced the words out. "My name is…Shane." As her vision narrowed, she saw his perplexed look. "My…name is…Shane." At his vexed expression, she gave him a bloody grin.

It was enough.

She had found herself in these last moments. Maybe her parents, Shannon and Dwayne Valerii, had never existed, but they were real to her. She was whom she choose to be. And Shane finally found peace as the darkness claimed her for the last time.


	120. Chapter 120 Propositions

Chapter 120 Propositions

Kara's eyes fluttered open and she squinted at the flickering lights overhead. As they dimmed and then surged bright again, she laid a forearm across her brow to block the glare and winced at the unexpected pain above her eye. When testing fingers came away red, she cautiously rolled to her side on the metal decking, noticing then the smear of crimson on her arm, too.

"Frak," she murmured as she remembered the floor bucking beneath her bare feet right before everything went black.

Wiping the blood off on her white sweatpants, Kara grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled herself upright…and then immediately bent over, hands on knees as a wave of vertigo threatened to put her right back down. She purposefully breathed a slow in and out, waiting for the dizziness to pass before warily straightening again.

Right. No quick moves and she'd be fine. She knew the drill. A simple concussion was almost a relief in its normalcy. And as she saw the streak of red on the bed's edge, her lips twitched, for it wasn't the first time either that she'd knocked herself silly on the frame of her rack. Of course, the other time ambrosia had been involved. Lots of it. At least this go-around she could be thankful that she didn't have the complication of a hangover and the Trident's CAG ragging in her ears about irresponsibility and behavior unbecoming of an officer.

That memory slid into thoughts of another CAG—and Kara wet her lips as she remembered blue eyes and a cocked brow giving her a questioning look. She'd been drunk then, too, but not nearly drunk enough. No, that came later, after she'd used the Chief's rotgut to drown the pain of the loss of her pilots to Scar—and after the stupidity of her lies to Lee.

An ache that rivaled the one in her head constricted her chest at thoughts of the younger Adama. In the many days since waking on the basestar, Kara had found herself wondering how Lee was taking her disappearance. Part of her hoped that he missed her while another that sounded suspiciously like her mother's voice whispered how much better he was without her there to burden his life.

Knowing that so much of the disaster that was her and Lee's relationship was due to the feelings and fears stirred up by that inner mantra, she had tried using Laura's words—repeated so many time during their sessions together—to combat the pernicious thoughts.

She had worth outside of the cockpit.

She was someone that people could loved.

She wasn't destined to screw-up everything good in her life.

Though it was still an effort to put any belief into the recitations, Kara _did_ notice that the volume of her self-doubts had definitely decreased, especially with the discovery of Earth. For a short time she'd been able to use that to further dampen the mocking voice... Except now it taunted her for finding the way only to then frak it up by getting captured by the Cylons.

Pressing a palm to her forehead, Kara gave herself permission to miss Lee. Regardless of her fears, she knew that they had at least found their balance again as friends. And, given time, she had started to believe that there would've been a chance for them to grope their way to a closer relationship. One where they didn't hurt each other at every turn. But, as she lifted her head and glared at the paired Centurion guards, she wondered now whether they'd ever have the opportunity.

The florescent lights abruptly flickered out, leaving the room tinged in the sullen glow of the conduit that ran the circumference of the chamber. Facing the silhouetted guards, Kara's frustration grew, hating the feeling of being trapped and ignorant. She wanted the frak out of the suddenly claustrophobic room!

Yet, as Kara really took in the Centurions' position, she almost laughed. They stood barely visible in the dim illumination, side-by-side in the narrow entrance. But it was the way they'd braced themselves, each with one arm locked with the other's and with their outside ones buttressed against the archway's frame that made Kara smirk. They looked like drunken comrades staggering home late at night after too much of everything. The humor of the image fell away as she reminded herself that as comical as they looked, they'd still block any attempt she made to go find out for herself what was happening.

As her attention shifted to the cause of the basestar's obvious damage, her first thought was that Galactica had attacked the basestar in some foolish attempt to rescue her, but then she'd scoffed the idea aside. The Admiral wouldn't risk that, not just for her, and besides, he had to have thought she'd died back in the radiation field. No one even knew she was being held by the Cylons. The other option that came to mind was that the recent FTL distortion she'd felt had been the basestar jumping to the _Fleet's_ location and instigating the attack. Whatever the scenario, the basestar had taken a beating and she could only pray that Galactica had fared better.

Wondering exactly how long she'd been unconscious, Kara massaged fingertips at her temples as the growing frustration made the pounding in her head increase. Trying to find a distraction, she moved to the side wall and placed her palm to its surface, intending to express her grievances through the only means she'd found since waking on the basestar.

But something was wrong.

The substance that covered—made up?—the walls of her cell seemed colder, more rigid. And when she lifted her hand away, the area beneath barely lightened in shade at all. Extending her hand again, this time Kara 'listened', hearing now by touch and sound the faltering of the great ship's lifeforce.

The basestar was dying.

Letting her arm fall back to her side and taking a step away, Kara didn't know how to feel. Shouldn't she be pleased that another of the enemy's vessels was destroyed? One less to pursue the Colonial Fleet?

And yet... As she pivoted, eyes squinting in the gloom towards the dark walls, she recalled the temporary peace she'd gained as she had stroked the organic surface. She'd also grown used to falling asleep to the ship's thrum of circuits and energy. It had felt like lying with her head against another's chest and listening to the steady beat of their heart.

She abruptly shoved the troubled feelings aside. It was just another death—and not even that of a human, so it was frakked up that it should bother her, Kara told herself. Shouldn't she be more concerned about what the Cylons were going to do now? It was obvious that the basestar's systems were failing. And, as she caught a whiff of scorched…something, Kara realize that there were probably spreading fires. Were skinjobs even now abandoning ship, taking off and leaving her behind to die along with that Hybrid of theirs?

As if in answer, she heard steps and then the scraping sound of metal separating and she peered across the gloom at the figure that had come for her. At least she hoped he had, preferring to take her chances at finding a means to escape during the evacuation than being left behind, alone on a slagged hulk.

The question was, which of her captors was she going to have to put down before she could find a way off the ship. She was hoping for Simon. Sure, he knew to be cautious around her, he'd learned _that_ much at least. But if he was still sporting the sling, and she could play off how 'fragile' she was emotionally, Kara bet she could catch the Four off-guard. Perhaps she should faked one of her flashbacks?

But when the figure moved towards her, the familiar form of a Two was distinguishable. It was Leoben that had come for her as, in her gut, Kara had known it would be. The Cylon wasn't about to renounce his possession of her now, certainly not when he'd finally got her back within his grasp. She knew Simon had been running a sort of interference for her, but was darkly sure that the 'good' doctor's protection had just expired.

"We must hurry, Kara," despite his words, Leoben spoke calmly and she wondered what it would take to really rattle the Two's composure.

Crossing her arms, "What the hell's happening?" she demanded, needing some answers before deciding how and when to make her bid to escape.

"Natalie's waiting for you. She'll explain," his reply, and this time she caught the undercurrent of excitement that he couldn't quite hide.

Whatever had gone down had been more than a simple clash between the basestar and Galactica. She was sure of it. And as a chill chased goosebumps along her arms, Kara clamped down on the sudden fear that the Cylons might have finally destroyed the old battlestar. No, she refused to credit that the Old Man would've let that happen.

Kara decided she'd learn more by cooperating and gave Leoben a jerk of her chin for him to lead the way. At the slight tilt of his head, she could guess that the Two was trying to read her intentions, but was reassured in the knowledge that she was backlit by the glow from the conduit strip. She could just make out the lifting of the corner of his lips in a sardonic smile before he turned away.

As she followed along the shadowed passageway, she was shocked at the sight of the carnage left in the wake of the fight. It wasn't that she hadn't seen it all before—torn and burned bodies lining the walls of a hall—but shouldn't it be different when it was the enemy's moans and evidence of suffering that beat at her senses? Kara gagged as the smell of charred flesh stirred her gorge as readily as if they were humans. And if the sight of a Centurion carrying a severely burned skinjob that looked identical to Athena made her flinch, she refused to acknowledge how much it bothered her. Skinjobs or the chromed variety, what did it matter if the Cylons bled or died? They'd just resurrect again…and again…barely touched by the reality of death—as she knew from bitter experience.

Kara stumbled as something tripped her. Squinting down in the dim light, she could see that a Six with a huge gash that ran the length of her side had snagged the cuff of her sweatpants and was trying to gasp out a plea for help. For some reason the blonde reminded Kara of the Six in Galactica's brig and she felt strangely guilty when Leoben gripped her elbow and pulled her onward.

"There's no time for this," he said, sparing but a glance for the whimpering figure on the decking. When she yanked her arm free, Leoben must have read her disgust at his apparent disregard for the injured, for he said, "She'll be attended to," then qualified, "If there's time. But we have to hurry now. Cavil could return at any moment and we must be away before he does."

More perplexed now than before, Kara continued in Leoben's wake as she tried to piece together the meaning of his words. She remembered Cavil—or at least the One that called himself Brother Cavil on Caprica. She'd thankfully had no interaction with the older Cylon since. Remembering the Admiral's briefing on the skinjob after he and the President had interrogated a pair of them on Galactica, she knew that they represented the first humanoid models created. And apparently acted as leaders of some sort for the Cylons. Why then had Leoben seemed to indicate that Cavil was the cause of the basestar's ravaged condition?

_What the frak's going on?_

She was distracted when she had to pressed herself to the wall to allow room for a Centurion that was half-dragging another damaged one to pass. Rubbing her arms against the chill of the wall and the decking beneath her bare feet, she suddenly wished that she'd been given another pair of socks after the others had gotten wet.

Kara quickened her stride after Leoben, abruptly finding an uneasy comfort in the Two's familiarity amidst all the chaos. She supposed that the chamber they entered was the same she'd been lead to before, yet the change was dramatic, the calm and quiet permanently shattered. Even here, the only light was the glow given off by the neon conduit. Its ruddy illumination revealed more bodies, though at least the injured had apparently already been removed, only the dead and functional still lingering within the command center of the basestar. It wasn't necessary for Kara to see the black-scarred panels to know of the fires caused by shorting circuits and a smoky pall hung heavy, stinging her eyes as she squinted to find the figure she'd been brought to meet.

As a tall form detached from a group and approached, Kara was shocked at the change in the Six. Despite the poor lighting, she could make out the smears of blood and soot that marred the woman's face. But it was the way she carried herself that implied the biggest difference. There was no arrogance now in Natalie's crossed arms, and though her shoulders were braced as straight as before, Kara could still discern the tremor that defied the woman's control.

"We're giving you what you want," said the Six, her voice tight with stress. "A Heavy Raider's being prepped to return you to Galactica."

Kara twitched back, taken by surprise at the Cylon's words. They were letting her go? A glance at the Two at her side confirmed she'd understood correctly as he nodded. Ok, but where was the catch? There was no way she was going to believe that the Cylons didn't have some agenda of their own for setting her free.

"And?" she prodded. A look passed too quickly between the pair for her to read, but it was enough to verify her suspicion. Her lips thinned as she grimly repeated, "And?"

"We need an alliance," the reluctance in Natalie's voice was ludicrously obvious and it was all Kara could do not to outright laugh in her face.

_An Alliance? She was frakkin' kidding, right?_

Shifting to better see Leoben in the shadows cast by the conduit's glow, Kara didn't bother hiding her incredulity as she put her hands on her hips and glared from one to the other.

"Kara, this is the new channel I've seen opening before our two peoples," Leoben said in that reverent tone that she hated so much. "It's true. I know you can feel it, too."

"Don't know what game you're playing," Kara said, choosing to ignore him now and focus on the Six instead, "but, sure, I'll take your terms to the Admiral." She held back adding that there was no frakking way Adama or Roslin would consider such an alliance. Yet, if the skinjobs were willing to give her a ship and send her off, she wasn't about to argue the point.

They must have had some of the same thoughts, for Natalie said, "We mean it. We can help your fleet and…" she hesitated, shifting uneasily before continuing, "…and we think it's time to face our own mortality. To give our lives meaning by making our time finite. You and Cavil have taught us that at least. Repeatedly, you've shown how a single life can make a difference, while the One's decision to deny us resurrection has shown us the value of the present." The woman paused, looking like she was about to step off a ledge. When she continued, her words were rushed as if afraid she'd change her mind if she didn't get them out quickly enough. "There's a ship, the Resurrection Hub. It's the central core of our ability to resurrect. All the others are merely appendages that extend its reach. Destroy the Hub, destroy resurrection…for all of us."

Kara stared in disbelief as the meaning of the words registered. Destroy the Hub…and the enemy would be mortal. Destroy the Hub and it might be possible—maybe not to _win_ the war—but to at least convince the Cylons that the cost was too great to continue it.

Something understood, but never discussed was that finding Earth was only feasible if the Fleet wasn't dooming its population to the same genocide that the Colonists had faced. There had always been the hope that the Thirteenth Tribe was advanced enough to provide a permanent military victory against the Cylons, perhaps even completely eradicate them. But, though the Admiral and President had never said as much, Kara knew, had always known, that the Fleet might also be bringing the Apocalypse in their wake to an unsuspecting planet…and if that was the likely case, the Fleet would have to stay far clear of Earth.

She hadn't really considered that when orbiting the planet. Too sick from the radiation and also too elated over her discovery, the total lack of technology in space hadn't registered on her at the time. Now its meaning really sank in, arguing against the likelihood that the Colonials were going to find a civilization able to defend itself. So if what the Six said was true…then destroying the Hub could be the lynchpin to the survival of the entire human race.

Grimly trying to read the woman through the gloom, Kara realized that this might be the one thing that could convince the Old Man to accept the offer of an Alliance.

Assuming that it was true.

Currently she didn't know enough to judge that. There was too much that didn't make sense and Kara wasn't about to take such a thin proposition back to the Fleet without more information. One thing that had struck her from Leoben's comments earlier and now Natalie's was that this Cavil was somehow involved in the damage that surrounded her.

Why would one of their own attack the basestar—_this_ basestar?

Another thought surfaced, making her breath hitch as she stiffened. Surely she wasn't important enough for them to fight over?

"Who attacked you? Why?" she demanded.

"We're at war, Kara." Leoben shifted closer as he answered, "There are those that blindly follow the lead of the Ones. But those of us whom have _seen,_ have chosen another path."

Kara pushed away her instinctive rejection of the Two's ramblings, trying to force herself to listen objectively—but it was difficult. There had been too many despair-filled days spent tuning him out. Too many nightmares where she'd tried to escape his relentless demands. Shaking her head, she retreated a pace and narrowed her focus to the woman instead. Without looking, she felt Leoben withdraw…and found it easier to breathe despite the acrid tang of smoke in the air.

"Explain it to me," she ordered, focusing only on the female skinjob.

It only took a few minutes for the Six to relate the Raiders' refusal to attack the Colonial Fleet and Natalie's suspicion as to their reason. And while Kara couldn't see what the big deal was about lobotomizing the Cylon crafts, she understood the powerplay that was apparently going on between the two camps and how Natalie's group had successfully undercut Cavil's dominance by their removal of the Centurions' inhibitors. She wasn't surprised that the others had violated the truce and attacked the rebels.

"We weren't taken completely by surprise," Natalie said. "We had received a warning that Cavil was up to something. Unfortunately, it came without any helpful details. I never—" As Natalie broke off, her eyes shifted to the debris and bodies before she cleared her throat and continued, "We knew Cavil might try to box us, but never expected _this_."

Kara ruthlessly crushed a twinge of sympathy. It was about time the Cylons experienced the full cost of war, learned how it felt when those you cared about suffered and died. Maybe the frakkers would even kill each other off and save the Colonials the effort, she bitterly thought. And though the idea was grimly appealing, Kara only had to glance around to doubt that outcome.

And besides, Cavil sounded like a real asshole.

Thankful that the whole issue was above her pay-scale, Kara asked, "So what's the sit-rep? How many ships you got?" knowing that the Admiral would need details. Judging from the Six's grim expression, it wasn't going to be good news.

"We had three basestars under our control, but one was completely destroyed in the attack, and this one is dying. We're evacuating everyone to the third," her pause wasn't reassuring, "…but its FTL was damaged. We're trying to repair it."

"Can't you use one of the Raiders?" asked Kara. Then at Natalie's look of incomprehension, "Slave it to your FTL," she added.

"I don't…" the Six trailed off, still obviously perplexed.

Then Kara understood that the Cylons had never tried Athena's trick of grafting the brain from one of their ships. She considered lying, pretending she was talking about something else and just leaving the skinjobs behind in their crippled basestar and at the mercy of the others. But that brought her back around to the Resurrection Hub. Instinctively she knew that the Admiral and President were going to have to—regardless of how unwillingly—accept the offer of an alliance if the result was removing the Cylons' advantage of resurrection. Which meant…

"Athen—Sharon was able to pull the brain from a Heavy Raider and link it to a Raptor's FTL," she reluctantly explained. "Depending on your damage, maybe you could do the same."

Kara watched as first surprise and then revulsion crossed the other woman's face. She saw her swallow and then straighten before waving to a figure to join them.

As Simon stepped forward, "Can it be done?" the Six asked him, and Kara realized that the Cylon doctor had been unobtrusively observing their entire conversation from the shadows cast by the conduit's dim glow.

From the bloody, soot-smeared state of his white coat, Kara guessed that he'd been busy offering what aid he could to those injured during the fight. But apparently his input was valuable enough for the Six to have wanted him close during her discussion with Kara. Watching the man readjust his sling-locked arm, it wasn't difficult to see that he was uncomfortable at the idea she had suggested.

Finally he answered. "I don't know. I'll have to see how extensively the FTL's been impaired, but…I imagine that it's possible," he grudgingly confirmed.

"Look into it. If it's necessary…" Natalie didn't finish and Simon gave an unhappy nod in acknowledgment but didn't move immediately away, causing the Six to raise her brows inquiringly at him.

"Have we heard anything from Sharon?" he quietly asked, and it took a moment of confusion before Kara realized that they must be referring to another Eight and not Athena. Her thoughts shifted to Boomer and she gave Natalie a sharp look.

"Not yet," the Six replied, her tone conveying both hope and concern.

Simon's shoulders drooped slightly, yet he straightened as he met Kara's questioning look and said, "Be well, Starbuck," before quickly turning to hurry off.

Shaking off the distraction of the brief exchange, Kara asked, "So, one _almost_-functional ship. That's _all_ you've got?" wondering if an alliance was even necessary. She knew about the Hub now, if she could uncover the location then the Galactica could probably take it out on her own.

Natalie's thoughts must have followed along approximately the same line of reasoning, for she curtly said, "The Hub changes locales frequently, its new coordinates transmitted back to the Hybrids. Working together, I'm sure we can find and destroy it," a warning note entered her voice, "but you'd never be able to do so on your own."

Wishing for more illumination in the chamber, Kara studied the other woman, considering the truth of her words. The skinjob was probably right. Galactica didn't have the resources to be sending out Raptors in a random search of star systems…and having a second ship, even if it was a damaged basestar, would both increase their chances of success and reduce the number of human causalities they'd take in any action against Cavil's forces. Thankfully reminding herself that she didn't have to like the idea and that the final decision was the Old Man's anyways, Kara gave the Six a hard smirk.

"Fine. I'll take your offer to the Admiral."

"Leoben will take you to a ship," Natalie said, raising her voice slightly and Kara saw the Two melt out of the shadows again.

"This way, Kara," he said without drawing too near, then turned and strode towards the archway.

She turned to follow, but then paused. Twisting back, she gave the Six a hard look before sighing.

"Look... You should know. That Six…_Caprica_ Six," she grimaced at the name, "she's fine. She's in the brig, sure, but the Admiral's guaranteed her safety." Then she added, We aren't the Pegasus," disgust bolding her words.

"I already know," Natalie replied, then at Kara's startled look, "Leoben told me later. He said you'd already assured him of our sister's good health." Casting a dubious glance over her shoulder, Kara saw the Two silently waiting, silhouetted in the entrance of the chamber. She twitched her attention back around as Natalie continued, "I asked him why he believed you…and why he didn't say anything before I—" she broke off, her gaze dropping away from Kara's.

"What? Before you tried to strangle me?" Kara abruptly laughed, amused at the Six's discomfiture. With a smirk, "Don't worry about it. You're not the first that's wanted to," she said, finding much of her bitter anger at this particular skinjob assuaged by the woman's embarrassment.

"He also said that he hadn't wanted to interfere." At Kara's skeptical snort, "He seemed to think _we_ needed to achieve a level of understanding without his biasing our perceptions," Natalie said, appearing a little perplexed, but Kara couldn't tell if it was in response to her unexpected jocularity or Leoben's words.

"For someone that claims to see the future, he's not very good at predicting us," Kara mocked.

"Perhaps," said Natalie, then added, "but when he told me about Caprica, he also said that you'd tell me yourself."

The Six shrugged as Kara shifted on her feet, uncomfortable at the woman's insinuation. Had Leoben really known that she'd feel compelled to keep her word if she was set free? That she'd tell her about Caprica Six? In so many ways the Two seemed to read Kara like a painting he'd studied for hours, yet at other times, his obtuseness over how his actions had affected her was staggering.

She shifted again, the conflicting emotions he always stirred making her want to pace…or run. Wrapping the discordant feelings in a blanket of foil, she smothered them and moved to where Leoben still waited. Steps echoed behind her as she halted before the Two when he didn't immediately turn and lead the way out.

"The three are to go as well?" he asked, addressing Natalie over her shoulder. At his words, Kara wondered what he meant, then corrected herself, _whom_ he meant. With a mental shrug, she figured they were probably just sending representatives to act as a delegation of sorts.

As Leoben looked back at her, his lips quirked up and she guessed that he must have received his hoped for answer. Chafing now under his regard, she sarcastically asked, "We going or what?"

When she moved to follow Leoben, the woman behind her said, "Good luck Kara Thrace," and then barely discernibly added, "may God guide your path for us all." Her unexpected words of faith nearly caused Kara to stumble. With the pragmatism she'd seen in the rebel leader, she'd forgotten that the Sixes were almost as fervently religious as the Twos. In a distant way, Natalie reminded her of Laura.

With Leoben in the lead, they moved along the dimming corridors, passing the bodies of the dead and a few limping stragglers heading in the same direction. The flight deck struck Kara as reassuringly familiar in its controlled chaos as the small number of surviving Heavy Raiders shuttled the Cylons off the dying basestar

Leoben led her with confident strides towards one of the waiting vessels. When he waved her to proceed him up the ramp, Kara had to smother the impulse to do a walk-around inspection. Established patterns were difficult to ignore, adding to her unease as she made her way from the aft section where crates had been strapped down towards the front. The row of inward-facing passenger seats that lined the forward section were empty and Kara wondered where the others were that Leoben had mentioned. Just grateful that having passengers meant she wasn't going to be stuck alone with Leoben again, she moved up the wide aisle separating the body of the Heavy and the cockpit. The pair of seats for the pilots were also extra-large, probably to accommodate the Centurion's frame. She automatically slid into the one on the left.

From just behind her, "You've flown a Heavy?" Leoben asked from his position in the aisle and slightly back.

"Yes," she retorted, uneasy with having him so close, yet where she'd have to twist awkwardly around to see him. She relented enough to grudgingly add, "Athena showed me. After Caprica." Trying to ignore the awareness of his near presence, Kara ran a mental checklist, refamiliarizing herself with the controls and beginning the start-up procedures. Honestly, she was a little surprised that Leoben had let her take point like this. As she settled into the role of pilot, Kara was able to set aside her concerns about the Two's motives and her responsibilities to the Fleet. She wouldn't really be able to get a feel for the ship until they were out in the unrestricting folds of space.

Immersed in the pre-flight prep, she temporarily forgot that Leoben still occupied the aisle behind her until she craned her head around at the sound of steps coming up the ramp. His body blocked her view of the passengers as they took their seats, but she frowned as she caught a glimpse of white material. None of the humanoid models that she'd seen had been dressed in the same sweats they'd given her, and she'd come to think of them as a prisoner outfit. Yet, if that were the case, then had one or more of the passengers also been a Cylon captive?

Her fingers were already reaching to release the buckles that secured her in place, curiosity and a vague premonition urging her aft, when Leoben leaned over her shoulder into her personal space. She instinctively drew back.

Pointing at a toggle to the side, "That's for the ramp," he said.

"I got it, so back-the-frak-off," she snapped. Meeting his bemused look at the awkward angle enforced by his position, she gritted her teeth, reminding herself not to let his intimate manner get to her. Swiveling her focus back to the controls, she flicked the indicated toggle and felt the vibration of ramp's gears. The slight jolt as it locked in place was confirmed by the green light on the dash. Then the clang of metal-on-metal and sense of movement signaled that they were being towed to the launch bay.

"You could just set the Raider for departure and it'll automatically take us out," Leoben suggested as he took the second seat and belted in. "That's the advantage of the Heavy Raiders, they've enough sentience to pilot themselves, interface with a Centurion or be manually maneuvered at need."

"I already know all that, so just shut up and hang on," Kara said as she tried to plot a flightpath through the other outgoing and incoming ships. Silently cursing, she knew that she ought to concede the point and turn the controls over to the ship's onboard brain, but she'd been under the Cylons' thumb for too long now. She was sick of them, sick of feeling helpless. She just wanted the hell out of here.

Disregarding Leoben's side-long look and the way he gripped the arms of his seat, she applied thrust and directed the ship's nose towards a hole in the flow of outbound ships. The craft felt sluggish beneath her hands compared to a Viper and she had to allow for the differences as she jockeyed it among the others making towards the basestar's maw. As they were spit out into the black of space, she breathed a sigh and smirked as it was echoed by the figure in the co-pilot's seat.

Their relief might have been hasty though as she had to skew the Raider to the starboard to avoid debris sent their way by an explosion. In fact, the entire starfield was littered with the remains of the destroyed basestar and hundreds of Cylon Raiders.

Heading on a trajectory she hoped would thread them out of the worst of the wreckage, the lingering doubt she'd had about the truth of the Civil War was laid to rest. There was no frakking way even the Cylons would've staged all this just to trick her into leading them to the Fleet.

As she grew more confident with the controls of the transport, Kara swung it around to get a good look at the one functional basestar. She grimaced as she took in the battle damage to its superstructure. Then her eyes widened as they shifted to the ship they just left. Whole sections of its starfish-like appendages were gone and she could see spreading fires all along its upper sections. The thing looked like it could blow at any time.

_Natalie had better get her people off ASAP. _

Pulling the craft's nose away, Kara felt a swirl of guilt. She clamped her jaw shut, grinding down and reminding herself that she wasn't leaving comrades behind, but the enemy. Whatever they got, they'd brought on themselves.

After surveying their position to make sure that they were well out of reach of any of the debris, Kara glanced to her right at Leoben.

"We need to get the frak outta here," she said, "but I don't know which way," hating that she really did need his help, at least for the initial jump and until she could get a grasp on how the Raider's NAV system functioned.

"You know where to find the Galactica, Kara?"

"If I can access to my Raptor, then yeah," she replied, only a partial lie.

Kara knew that the Fleet was headed towards the Ion Nebula. She even knew the coordinates—a fact she'd planned on protecting with her life. So, depending on how long she'd been stuck on the basestar, she still had hopes of reaching the Nebula first. The Admiral's SOP had been to jump, then allow time to plot a course for the next one, do a maintenance check on each ship's systems and in general give people a chance to rest between. After having experienced the fatigue of continuous FTL jumps every thirty-three minutes, Kara knew that the Old Man wouldn't push their pace without cause. With luck on her side, she could beat the Galactica there.

"It was significantly damaged," Leoben said doubtfully, pulling her attention from attempts to calculate of how many jumps it might take to catch up. It took her a moment to realize that he was speaking about her Raptor as he continued, "We left it behind on the planet where we found you."

She frowned, her memory of landing the shuttle and its condition a vague haze caused by stims withdrawal and radiation poisoning. There had been smoke—seared circuits—and rows of red indicators flashing the Raptor's distress.

_Frak!_

Her initial plan had been to repair the Raptor and continue on without the Cylons, figuring that she could take their proposal back to the Admiral and leave it up to him to pursue a meeting or not. Of course, that just highlighted a flaw she hadn't considered before. The rebels weren't going to be hanging around at the ambush site any longer than necessary—and she didn't know their rendezvous point. Side-eying Leoben, Kara decided to try later to get those coordinates. Her immediate goal was, as she'd already told him, to put some distance between herself and Cavil's crazies.

"Then that's where we go," she said with an expectant glare at the Two to enter the coordinates of the first jump.

As he returned her look with a contemplative one of his own, Kara wasn't sure if he was trying to discern her inner thoughts—or just running calculations in his head. She had no idea if the Cylon had to rely on computers for plotting, but shoved the thought aside as he leaned forward and punched numbers into the ship's onboard system.

At his nod, she keyed the Raider's FTL and braced for the moment of dislocation. Seconds later and she blinked to focus on the starfield visible through the narrow visor slots of the craft. After ascertaining that they were alone in this section of space, she leaned forward, noting their new coordinates. Kara tentatively input numbers for the NAV to run, intent on learning how to compute their current location on her own. As she grimly read the results, she hoped that they were closer to the algae planet than it appeared from the current plot.

"Leave it for a moment, Kara," Leoben said, having unbuckled and shifted into the aisle at her side again. As she glanced up at him, "We should see to that cut of yours. Clean it up. I've a kit with supplies in back," he said, then hesitated, concern tightening the corners of his eyes. An unpleasant feeling of dread made her trigger the release on her belts and twist around to fully face him.

"Kara, there's something you need to know."


	121. Chapter 121 Reunion

Chapter 121 Reunion

"Samuel Anders is alive."

Kara blinked at Leoben, not sure she'd heard him correctly, but as his words settled in, she jerked to her feet facing him in the cockpit's narrow aisle.

"Frak you! I saw him die. I saw—" she choked off as a wave of nausea hit her, the remembered smell of decaying flesh suddenly overwhelming. A hand on her elbow pulled her free of the past and Kara struck out, shoving Leoben backwards so he fell sprawled across the seat.

"Bastard," she hissed.

"No, Kara, he's alive," he said without rising, then added, "He's on board," and gave a twitch of his head towards the back.

What game was Leoben playing at now, she wondered as she spun away and took the four strides that separated the cockpit from the first compartment. Her eyes instantly froze on the seated figure dressed in all white to the right and she jerked to a halt.

Her mind reeled at the sight of her husband. Images of his blood seeping between her fingers overlapped with those of maggots crawling about his corpse…and Kara stumbled back into the edge of the bulkhead.

Maybe they had faked his death? Or drugged her…had she hallucinated it all?

Kara knew how frakked up she had been in the detention center by that point…and so many of the memories were still a confused jumble. Yet the one's surrounding D'Anna's torture and stabbing of Sam seemed so sharp. So painfully real. Even as her thoughts lurched from one possible explanation to another, her eyes clung to Sam and a surge of relieved joy spread through her as he smiled.

His fingers had fumbled the buckles loose and he'd started to rise as Kara's eyes swept his tangible form, still unable to believe that he was here—really here—alive and well. He'd just straightened to his full height when her gaze fell on his bare arms—his unmarked arms…

And as her eyes shot to his, the one explanation that she'd not even considered was confirmed by the guilty fear in his expression.

"Kara, I—" he started, a hand lifting in supplication as he took a half step towards her, but his words and motion were aborted by the stunned revulsion in her face.

"You're a Cylon," her words came out in a harsh whisper.

"Ms. Oblivious finally catching on," a voice mocked from behind her, jerking Kara's attention around. As her gaze fell on D'Anna where she sat still strapped in, Kara's vision hazed over and she was back in the cell with Sam's lifeless body hanging behind her.

Then Kara was on the Three in an instant; her fists striking down in a berserk rain of blows. All the rage, grief and hate poured out over the woman and Kara's knuckles quickly reddened with both of their blood. Strong arms abruptly wrapped around her chest and half pulled, half lifted her away. With a primal scream, she kicked back, her heel impacting flesh, and as the grip loosened, she jammed a hard elbow into the ribs of the one that held her. With a pained _oomph, _the arms slackened further and Kara twisted free, retreating, her breathes coming in hard gasps.

"Hey, it's me. It's Ok," Sam soothed, hands judiciously held out from his side in a non-threatening manner.

The world tipped again around Kara as he spoke; the interior of the Heavy Raider snapping into focus and the meaning of the Sam's presence here crashing in on her for a second time. Her confusion slipped back to anger at his betrayal.

Seeing the shift in her expression, "Please, Kara, just let me—" he started, but she cut him off with a murderous glare, then swept it around the cabin to include the others. As she noticed for the first time the familiar figure of Ellen Tigh moving to aid the semi-conscious Three, her reality took another blow.

It was too much. Too frakking much and she spun away, careening back up the aisle to fold into the pilot's chair with elbows braced on knees and her head in her hands. She was hyperventilating and yet it felt like she couldn't breathe as the truth slashed through her in a repeating mantra.

Cylon…Cylon…Cylon… He was a Cylon. Sam was a Cylon.

_Oh Gods… Sammie was a frakkin' Toaster!_

Ignoring the raised voices that echoed from behind her, Kara desolately tried to grasp that the man she'd married, the man she thought she'd loved, had never even existed. It had all been a charade, a ruse to use her like Sharon had Karl. Bile rose in her throat at the memory of Sam's asking on New Caprica how she felt about them having kids. Her stomach clenched further as she relived so many other moments shared together, beginning with those on Caprica and then in the year they'd spent trying to make a home on the dirtball of New Caprica. Kara clawed through the memories, sickened while she searched for the little things that should have clued her in to the fact that her husband was a skinjob.

After a time, she became aware of another's presence and realized that Leoben was quietly watching her from the co-pilot's seat. She didn't move from her hunched position, but he must have known when she finally noticed him, for he began to speak, voice empty of inflection and steady as he related what he'd learned of the missing five models and Sam's part in the Cylons' history.

She bitterly tried to shut out his words, to not listen as the Two insisted that Samuel Anders hadn't known what he was and that he was a good man—the same man, he insisted—that she had pledged her life to before her gods. It struck Kara as ironically galling that Leoben was now defending Sam when the Cylon had generally refused to even acknowledge her husband's existence before. His hypocrisy stirred her to lift her head and give him a nasty smile.

"You like him that much, go frak him yourself," she spat out. Then feeling the consuming need to provoke the Two, she leered and crudely said, "Sammie's always liked it a little rough. Bet he'd get off on you holding him down…taking him from behind." A measure of gratification warmed her as Leoben's eyes narrowed at her vulgarity. At the evidence of the crack in his composure she savagely added, "Why don't you show him how _I _like it_,_" and as he flinched, was rewarded by the shame she glimpsed before he looked away.

Turning in the seat, she cast her own gaze out towards the starfield and sought to let the familiar view of open space calm the seething tangle of her emotions. She recognized the piercing bite of humiliation, anger, betrayal…but there was also a caress of elation that felt like treason slithering across her soul. Her husband was a Cylon. It was a repellant fact and Kara spurned the notion that it was somehow permissible to be happy that he was alive.

Blinking eyes that stung, she tried again to focus only on the vastness framed by the Raider's cockpit slits. Slowly the turmoil eased, replaced by a growing sense that in her distraction, she'd missed something of importance in Leoben's explanation. As the feeling grew, Kara side-eyed him and saw that he was staring down at the items in his hands, his brow in profile creased with an unaccustomed frown and she read the tautness in the muscles of his neck and shoulders. When he lifted his eyes to meet hers, she was surprised to see pain in their depths, it surprised her more that it didn't bring her any satisfaction.

Instead, Kara refocused her thoughts, sifting through his earlier recitation for the elusive bit that had sounded a warning. With an indrawn breath, she abruptly knew. Besides Sam and Ellen, he had said that there were _three_ _others_, and that they were with the Fleet. Three Cylon infiltrators that no one suspected. As Kara wondered if they were anyone one she'd met, she grimaced at the surprising reveal of Ellen Tigh.

_The Colonel's gonna frakkin' freak!_

Recalling how shattered Tigh had been after his return from New Caprica without his wife, Kara really, _really_, didn't want to be the one to try to explain to him that Ellen was a skinjob. Then again, she could understand how that discovery felt. And as Kara thought that, she realized that Karl—and the Chief, too—had experienced the same betrayal. She bit her lip, not daring to think about Athena and Boomer just now, too many emotions already threatening to dismember her sanity. Giving a shake of her head, she turned her attention back to the unknown traitors.

"Who're the others," she grimly asked, facing Leoben now. At his blank look, "The other three. You said they're still in the Fleet," she clarified with a scowl.

"Ah, yes, the others. Quite a revelation, their identities," he said carefully. "Then again, it makes sense that they would've risen as they had." As he paused and pinched the bridge of his nose as if in pain, a deepening sense of dread filled Kara at the implications of his words. Lowering his hand, he continued, "Imagine…Saul Tigh, Galen Tyrol and Tory Foster," he gave a slight smile, "those three, so close to power…and yet so oblivious to their past."

Kara heard the names, but it took a second longer for understanding to register. When it did, her eyes widened and she shook her head in denial,.

_There was no way! No frakking way that the Colonel was a Cylon_.

Everyone knew that he'd flow Vipers against the Cylons in the _first_ war. And how many years now had he served with the Old Man since? If Leoben expected her to buy that the irascible XO was a skinjob, then he was insane!

"You're lying," she hissed, vehemently rejecting his words.

"It's true, Kara." At Sam's voice over her shoulder, she jerked around, glaring at the man she'd once called her husband.

Ignoring the imploring look in his eyes, "Bullshit," she ground out.

"Saul, Galen, Tory…I remember them all," he said, then swiped a hand over his eyes. "Kara, I know this is frakked up. It is. When I woke on the basestar, I couldn—"

Cutting him off, she sneered, "Can it, _Sammie_," scornfully emphasizing his pet name. "Don't care and I don't want to hear it." Hugging her anger to herself, Kara purposefully ignored the man at her shoulder and glared across at Leoben where he neutrally watched the brief exchange. "Figure the next set of coordinates," she ordered. "We're going on."

Without waiting for a response from either man, she redid her straps and reached for the Raider's flight controls, noticing for the first time her scraped and bloody knuckles. A quick flex confirmed that they were stiff but would do the job, and she gripped the controls. Aware that Sam still hadn't moved from his position in the aisle, Kara gave a twitch of the ship's yoke and smugly heard the sound of him smacking into the bulkhead.

"Damn it, Kara!" he yelped.

"Better get everyone buckled in, Sammie_,"_ her tone dripping solicitude."Could be a rough ride and wouldn't want anyone _hurt_." She pitched the craft briskly again for emphasis and heard his frustrated curse as he retreated aft. A glance sideways caught Leoben with the hint of a sly smile in corners of his eyes and mouth. Her look turned hard and she coldly asked, "Ready?"

He nodded without speaking, his expression smoothing over into a blank mask.

She triggered the Heavy's FTL, and after the moment of distortion, surveyed the new view and the Raider's version of Dradis. Once assured that they were clear, her gaze dropped to scan the panel, automatically assessing the ship's systems post-jump while she wondered how many more there were to reach the algae planet? Even one was too many as far as she was concerned. Despite her apparent disregard of Sam's confirmation, and as cracked as their accusations were, Kara was forced to accept that he and Leoben had spoken the truth about the three remaining skinjobs.

And that meant that the sooner she could warn the Admiral the better.

Besides that, she was desperate to fix the Raptor and put some distance between herself and the Raider's other occupants. Kara didn't have to glance over to know that Leoben was busy working with the NAV computer for the next jump. That was fine by her, not wanting to have to look at the Two. Since boarding, she'd been fighting against the claustrophobic feeling being stuck this close to him had engendered…and that was before she'd even learned of the identity of their passengers. As it was, she felt like the oxygen level was too low for her to draw a normal breath. So much so that she had checked the gauges again to be assured the systems were functioning at their optimum ratings…not that that eased the tightness in her chest.

"Bout done?" she curtly demanded. It wasn't necessary for her to see him to know that Leoben was scrutinizing her, his expression probably one of conciliatory concern. When he spoke, his words seemed to confirm her guess.

"We should take a break. Tend to your hands and eye," he quietly said.

"_I'm fine!"_ Then gritting her teeth, "Are the coordinates in or not?"

She heard him sigh before answering, "Yes, but it'll take another few minutes for the drive to spool up again. And we should allow an hour every few times for the cyclocellerators to cool. Your shuttles handle the heat dispensation better than ours. Probably a trade off for our significantly longer range," there was a shrug in his tone as if the intricacies of the ships' mechanics was of little import to him.

Kara grimaced at her own ignorance of the Cylon craft's workings. She vaguely remembered Athena mentioning something similar before, but that didn't make taking his word that the stops were necessary any less repugnant.

She ignored the murmur of voices from the passenger section and sat in silence, trying to remember all she could of the Raptor's condition when she'd put it down some two weeks ago. A fevered haze still veiled much of that time, but she had the bleak impression that the damage had been extensive. Kara resolutely pushed aside the possibility that the shuttle might not be salvageable.

It had to be.

Distracted, she didn't catch Leoben's words and looked over questioningly.

"We're ready," he repeated.

Without answering, she initiated the jump, and they repeated the process twice more before Leoben insisted on calling a halt to avoid overheating the drive. Reluctantly she agreed and set the systems to standby. Then, as the adrenalin and anger that had sustained her to this point wore off, she leaned back to rest her aching head against the seat's support. All the psychological blows she'd taken in the last few hours had taken an emotional toll more exhausting than even combat flights and she shut her eyes as a deep weariness settled in.

When Leoben finally spoke again, Kara jumped, startled that she'd almost dozed off, especially when she realized that he was squatting at her side now.

"We can't risk infection, Kara." He gave her raw knuckles a meaningful look and offered her a damp cloth.

She debated ignoring him, but reluctantly knowing that he had a point, grudging took the rag and scrubbed at the crusted blood, grimacing at the pain. Motion drew her attention as Leoben held up a small spray can.

At her frown, "It's an antibiotic dressing," he explained, gesturing for her to hold her hands out. Deciding it wasn't worth the effort to protest, Kara extended her hands, palms down and only winced slightly as he sprayed her abused knuckles. He set the can aside and retrieved the cloth from the seat's armrest and gave her an inquiring look.

"What?" she irritably demanded.

"Let me get that for you," he offered, indicating the cut above her eye.

Grabbing the rag from him again, "Frak off," she muttered, but lacking the usual vehemence. Too many clashing emotions had cast her adrift within the hurricane of revelations, and holding the cool cloth to her forehead, Kara queasily sought to find her footing again.

After a minute, she realized that she was quietly humming and frowned as she tried to place the melody. Vague memories of her mother surfaced and the tune abruptly struck a discordant note. Jerking her head upright, Kara forcefully reminded herself that none of this mattered. She had a mission—or actually two now: return with Earth's coordinates and take the Cylons' alliance proposal to the Admiral and President. It wasn't relevant that she'd discovered that she'd been frakked over by _another_ skinjob. No, only finding a safe home for her people was important now.

Looking over to where Leoben had withdrawn to his own station again, "Coordinates in?" she flatly asked. At his silent nod, she keyed the FTL.

Five jumps and some three hours later and the familiar planet was finally visible through the Heavy's forward slits. Anticipating her next demand, Leoben gave her the location of her downed Raptor and she rapidly descended, setting the ship down with none of her usual finesse in her hast.

Barely taking time to shut down the engines and slap the ramp control, Kara was out of her seat and past the passengers before they'd even unbuckled their restraints. And the blast of heat and rough ground beneath her bare feet hardly registered as her rapid strides carried her in the direction of the Colonial shuttle. She grimly noted that the hatch was open and, on ducking inside, saw that all the surfaces were coated in a thin layer of grit.

Kara pulled the blood-splattered tanktop over her head and used it to brush at the ship's panels, then slid into the pilot's seat and began to punch at the Raptor's controls, growing more frantic as each remained unresponsive. Rushing into the back, she knelt before the ECO's station and popped the cover, exposing the shuttle's power system. Several minutes and a multitude of curses later she was rewarded by the hum of circuits reluctantly coming online. The interior safety lights flickered on adding to the ambient light streaming in from the cockpit's windshield. Back in her seat, Kara's fingers traveled over the various switches and toggles, trying by force of will to get them to revert to the green of operational status.

Slapping a palm against the uncooperative console, "Godsdamnit!" Kara savagely cursed. She resisted the urge to pound the metallic surface and instead splayed her battered hands over the instrument panel and took a breath, reminding herself that she still had a way to get the coordinates back to Galactica. It might mean long days confined with a group of skinjobs that she'd rather just airlock, but she repeated to herself that it'd be worth it—worth anything—if it led to their finding Earth.

The thought of returning to the Heavy Raider and it's other occupants drove Kara from her seat again. The shuttle's small arms drawer pulled easily open to reveal several service pistols. After confirming that it was fully loaded, she tucked one of the guns into the front of her waistband and pulled back on the dirty tanktop to conceal it. The feel of it's cool mass against her skin was reassuring and Kara resolutely settled into the ECO's chair and sought to call up the NAV program.

Her brief assurance was shredded as she stared at the readout.

_No. No…it was here. It was here. It had to be here!_

Flinging herself forward into the pilot's station again, Kara tried there to access the stored coordinates. Over and over she stabbed at the keys, refusing to accept the stark reality that the ship's entire navigational record had been wiped clean. Even as she frantically tried to run a diagnostic of it's system, a distant voice taunted in a steadily increasing volume that it was gone—that she'd frakked up again and that this time it would cost her everything.

Kara didn't know when she had given up trying to recover the coordinates, ones that simply didn't exist any longer, and had hunched forward over her knees, but eventually the ungiving bulge at her waist drew her desolate notice. With fingers numbed by despair, she pulled the pistol free and blinked down at it.

— Here was the answer she needed —

— This was the way to stop all the betrayals —

— A final solution to end the confusion and pain —

She caressed the gun's barrel, her sense of touch returned as she traced it's lines. It felt cool when laid against her throbbing temple and Kara wondered why she'd resisted it's lure before?

Then memories of sickbay swirled before her eyes and Kara remembered strong arms holding her as she had screamed out the soul-destroying horror that had once threatened to consume her. Unconsciously she shifted the barrel away from her head as Lee's words echoed in her mind, beseeching her not to give up, not to leave him again. Her chin quivered.

His confident voice was in her head now, emphatic words driving back the other's as he reminded her that she wasn't just Kara, that what made her Starbuck was still a part of her and she was too strong to just give up like this. As close as if he were before her, he insisted that she hadn't lost Earth, it was still there waiting, and what she'd found once, she could find again.

With a shudder, Kara let the pistol sag to her lap. But a sound from behind had her spinning to her feet with the gun held before her.

"Hey! It's me." Sam's gaze shifted warily from the muzzle of the pistol to hers.

Aligning the sites with his head, "I should put a bullet between your eyes," Kara grimly said.

"I didn't know," he said fervently. "Kara, I swear I didn't plan any of this," he pleaded for her to understand, to believe him.

Her aim wavered as multiple images of Sam again superimposed over each other. Her brow began to heavily bead with sweat as she fought down the nausea, grief and disorientation. Latching onto the chain anger provided, she used it to anchor herself to this reality and moved forward until the barrel was pressed against his head this time. He didn't flinch or move, just held his ground and her hard gaze with eyes filled with sorrow.

It should be easy. Just squeeze her finger and the Gordian knot presented by his resurrection would be undone. Perhaps he'd even be thankful she thought, remembering their long ago pact on Caprica.

Biting her lip, Kara searched the familiar face for the enemy within. But all she could see was Sammie, her big idiot of a husband who ignored all her faults and had never faltered in his belief in her. Once more she experienced the flow of his trust and it broke the links she'd grasped to hold her steady in her resolve.

As her arm dropped to her side, he moved as if to embrace her, but Kara held up her other hand in warning and shook her head. It was too soon. She might not be able to kill him…yet she wasn't ready to suffer his touch either. Wasn't the reason she'd chosen Sam in the first place because he was safe and life with him should be easy? Now that had changed and she didn't know if it was in her to ever forget.

Sam tried reaching for her again but she retreated a step this time. At her withdrawal, disappointment darkened his expression, reawakening her guilt that she'd never been able to wholeheartedly return his devotion. Facing him with barely three feet between but a virtual chasm separating them, Kara acknowledged to herself then that she had always loved Sam—still did, in fact—but she didn't _want_ him. Maybe that would change in time. All she was certain of now was that she couldn't stomach the thought of this new body of his against hers.

Breaking his entreating gaze, she gave the interior of the Raptor a bleak look and said, "There's nothing here for me," then regretted her choice of words as Sam flinched. Her ready guilt spurred her to reluctantly add, "Look, I…I didn't mean it like that."

She was surprised to find that his, "I get it, Kara," said in a tight voice that ended in a bitter laugh still stung her.

"Sam, just—"

He interrupted. "No. I do. I get it. I've had months to deal with this." He swiped a hand over his face. "Sorry. This just isn't how I saw this going down," he muttered.

Kara shook her head, unable to think of any words that could bridge the gap—not sure she should even try. She tucked the service pistol back into the front of her sweatpants and caught Sam's questioning look as she pulled the hem of the tanktop over it's revealing outline. Opening her mouth to ask if he was going to rat her out to the others, she hesitated and then pressed her lips together instead, swallowing the words. Let him prove where he really stood, she grimly decided. Moving past him, taking care not to make contact, she paused at the Raptor's hatch as he called her name.

"So that's it? We aren't going to talk about this?" Somehow he sounded both beseeching and bitter as he asked, "You're just going to walk away?"

She was held poised half in and out, at a loss how to reconcile…well, frakking everything! What the hell did he think she had to say?

Over her shoulder she dryly replied, "Haven't you figured it out yet, Sammie. It's what I do," and she made her way down the wing and crossed the distance between the two ships without looking back.

Kara didn't have the coordinates to Earth, but she did remember a few of the numbers…and she'd found the way there once and was determined to discover it again.

As she climbed the Heavy's ramp, she began to hum.


	122. Chapter 122 Considerations

Chapter 102

As Kara accepted the MRE packet from Sam, it still vaguely surprised her that Cylons used ready-to-eat meals, too. There was actually a lot that seemed surreal about the past three days, but as she peeled open the top seal and sniffed suspiciously at the pouch's contents, it was the mundane things that kept disrupting her sense of reality.

Cylons shouldn't eat.

They shouldn't have need of a sanitary head, even one as minimal as that the Heavy Raider boasted.

And they certainly shouldn't stare at her with reverent expectations.

Her skin itched at the way Leoben and Sam's eyes followed her whenever she ventured from the cockpit. Nor was Ellen's regard much better; the older woman always seemed slightly amused and yet unwilling to share what the frak she found so humorous in their current situation.

Truth of the matter was that only D'Anna's sullen glares settled Kara's taut nerves. Ellen had cleaned up much of the damage to the Three's face with the shuttle's limited first aid kit, but the bruises and cuts had only just begun to heal and they provided Kara with an ugly satisfaction whenever she laid eyes on the skinjob. D'Anna's behavior really should have made her uneasy: the Three never spoke directly to her, just made snide comments within her hearing or silently returned Kara's hostile looks with a menacing glower that promised retribution later.

And yet…

Here was an enemy that Kara could hate without feeling conflicted—and the skinjob clearly returned her loathing, a refreshing change from the demeanor of the others. And the fact that no one had been killed in the last few days was only due to the stubborn intervention by Ellen Tigh. The woman had a way of diffusing the situation whenever Sam, Kara or D'Anna appeared to be about to go off. In that way, she reminded Kara of Laura Roslin, though she doubted that Ellen's ability to manipulate people came from handling a classroom of kids—more likely a barroom of belligerent men. Regardless, the woman had managed to keep everyone from tearing each other's throats out, which given the depth of the grievances involved was nothing short of miraculous.

In the meantime, Kara had finally gained a precarious balance in her sentiments towards Sam. Much like with Leoben, she had managed to compartmentalized the emotions that he evoked that threatened to sever her thread of control. There would be time to deal with them later and right now she had to focus on her mission.

On first lifting off from the algae planet, Kara had considered jumping the Heavy Raider back into the radiation storm in a search for the elusive mandala. She had been willing to take the risk but, side-eying the Two where he'd maintained his station in the second seat, she hadn't dared take the chance of showing the Cylons a direct path to Earth; while the radiation exposure was too great for the Fleet to venture along that route again, Kara was sure that the Cylons wouldn't hesitate.

No. Her best course lay in intercepting Galactica at the Ionian Nebula. Let the Admiral deal with the Cylon 'delegation' while she took another ship back on her own to search, she decided.

As Kara spooned out a bite of the hash, she had to admit that the Cylons' MRE was levels above the Colonials' standard issue. Not that she had ever been a particularly picky eater, her mother had seen to it that she was grateful for whatever she got, but her recent time on the basestar had reminded her of how real food was suppose to taste. She had no idea where the Cylons got it, but she had to admit that if they could somehow help the Fleet with their food stores it would be a definite plus in their favor. Especially after the near disaster of the contaminated processing unit.

She continued to eat, ignoring Sam as he settled into the other cockpit seat.

"You can't avoid me forever, Kara," he said. Her eyes flicked his way to find him regarding her with a frustrated look. When she returned her attention to the meal without answering, his agitated huff tightened her stomach and abruptly her appetite disappeared.

"Look. I get that you're angry," his tone, though calm, had the undercurrent of pleading that had come to irritate her more and more over the past few days, like he thought if he begged enough she could just forget what he was. Her hand gripped the pouch, threatening to spill its remaining contents. Oblivious to her growing agitation, he continued, "I was frakking angry, too, Kara. Thought that everything I knew about myself was a lie." She couldn't help looking over now and saw him leaning towards her as he fervently said, "It wasn't. Not all of it. My life before the Buccaneers, sure, but I was part of that team—their Captain. That was _real_. And then I met you…and I swear that everything we had was real, too." He paused as if gathering himself, then said in a rush, "I love you, Kara. And you said once that you loved me. That was real. You can't deny it."

She automatically recoiled, flinching as he drove a dagger straight into the nerve center of her self-doubts and roiling emotions. His words swept away the ready anger, but in its stead lay exposed the bitter knowledge that she had cowardly turned to him as a way to distance herself from Lee. Sam was right, she _did_ love him—her words to him as he'd died had been true. Yet in the time since, Kara had been forced to re-examine many things. One of the truths she had been avoiding was now finally pinned in place and she couldn't push it aside any longer.

She didn't _want_ Sam.

What she had felt for her husband was love—too akin to how she had felt about Zak for her to pretend otherwise—but she wasn't _in love_ with him.

There was someone else.

There had always been someone else…and none of her denials could change that.

And as Kara finally accepted that what she felt for Lee Adama wasn't just some dark-of-night, post-coital declaration that she could run from any more, a profound relief shuddered through her. She was in love with Lee. Regardless of how he might now feel, regardless whether she deserved his love in return, the irrefutable truth was that he was the only man that had ever connected soul-deep with her. He was the only one she really wanted.

The turmoil of choosing between the two men might have finally been resolved, but that simply now left more room for fear. It scared Kara to want something so much. Hadn't she already learned how the gods responded to that? She closed her eyes, biting her lip to remind herself that she had a greater mission—refusing to call it a destiny—to fulfill. Thinking that maybe if she could satisfy the gods in this, they'd turn their attention from her in the future and she might then be given the chance to find some kind of happiness of her own.

So lost in her thoughts, she jumped when Sam spoke. "Damn it, Kara, say something," his words jerking her from the revelation, and guilt reminded her that regardless of how she felt for Lee, Sam was still her husband and—Cylon or not—he deserved more than her cold rejection.

Taking a steadying breath, "You might be the same person, but I'm not," she quietly said. "Too much happened. Too much you don't know about. I'm not—"

Cutting her off, "I don't care." He moved to squat at her side. "I'm here. You're here. This is all that matters," said Sam with a pointed look at her tattoo. Then, as Kara's eyes dropped to the unmarked skin of his own arm, she saw him stiffen, realizing that he'd just drawn attention to just how much had in fact changed in the past few months they'd been apart. "I'm still me," he tightly insisted.

"You're _not_ listening." Anger was stirring past the guilt now. "The things that happened," jerking her head towards the passenger section and her tone sharpening, "the things they did… _Gods, I should just shoot her now,"_ a brief hesitation, then she bitterly added, "…both of them."

"If that's what it takes, I'll do 'em both for you," he grimly offered, extending his hand for the gun.

For a moment, Kara had the suspicion it was a ploy to get the weapon, but hadn't she already decided that Sam wasn't really with the Cylons? She did have to wonder why he hadn't already confronted D'Anna. He might not know all that the Three and Leoben had put Kara through, but the woman _had_ killed him, that alone should have been reason enough for him to have found a way to off her by now—despite any of Ellen's objections. Hadn't it taken all of Kara's own willpower since to keep from attacking the skinjob every time she'd been forced to go to the aft section for something? It had only been the knowledge of how important an alliance was that had held her rage at bay, and so, whenever possible, she had kept to the cockpit to avoid the others.

But why hadn't _Sam_ acted before now?

Her hand dropped protectively over the concealed pistol as she searched his face. Had she misread his allegiances? The doubt brought back her feelings of frustration and she slapped his hand away.

"I don't need you to do _anything_ for me, Sammie," she snapped out.

When he paled and let his arm fall to his side, she sought to shut out the guilt.

"Fine, Kara," he grimly said as he stood. Turning away, "Suit yourself. You always do," then he moved along the aisle and out of sight.

"Frakkin' hell," she muttered, then swore again as the forgotten hash spilled onto her lap. Not bothering to restrain her curses as she cleaned up the mess, Kara only wished that it were as easy to sweep up the shambles of her life.

[ I I I I I ]

Two days later and Kara was worrying her lower lip as she considered the coordinates for their next jump. Before they had even left the algae planet, she had insisted that Leoben teach her how to work the Heavy Raider's navigational system so she could plot their course without revealing the destination to the Cylon. The first jump had been purposefully at an angle to her goal to deceive anyone trying to track her objective based on their initial direction. Her mistrust might be mistaken, but old habits died hard and Kara was damned if she was going to leave an easy trail for Cavil or any of the others to follow.

Yet she hadn't dared extend their course too much. By her calculations Galactica had at least three weeks' lead on them. Thanks to the Heavy's significantly longer jump window, she was confident they were gaining, but so much relied on whether the Admiral maintained his SOP of scouting the surrounding areas for resources after each jump or if he decided to push the Fleet ahead. Any delay on the Old Man's part would work in Kara's favor, but she still had to ruthlessly press their own pace.

As it was, after some five days spent almost entirely seated at the pilot's station, she was sore and exhausted.

And she stank.

Leoben had assured her that the Raider had enough food, water, air and fuel for a group their size to manage fourteen days—twenty if they rationed the water. But the shuttle lacked a shower…or even a sink, and antiseptic wipes could only do so much. Another thing they lacked in supplies was additional clothing, and her once-white pants and top had stiffened since with dust, sweat and smeared blood.

Plucking at the filthy tanktop, Kara grimaced at her own rank odor and grungy state. From scalp to toenails she itched. And as she ran fingers through the greasy mop of her hair, she even thought longingly of the outdoor showers they'd had on New Caprica. Besides her outward condition, she ached in every joint. Long hours within the confines of a Viper were one thing, but close to a week now spent sitting, eating and even sleeping at the controls of the Cylon shuttle had left her feeling as decrepit as the XO.

She frowned as thoughts of the Colonel led her naturally to his wife and their upcoming reunion. The woman had come forward more than once in the past days to speak to Kara, trying to explain what life for the twelve humanoid-Cylons had been like prior to Cavil's treachery. Ellen had ignored her initial curt rebuff and continued talking like they were having a friendly chat over drinks. But after several attempts, Kara's cold silence had defeated even her bemused patience and Ellen had shaken her head before retreating to the aft section for good.

Moving to stand in the aisle between the seats now, Kara straightened with a groan. She worked methodically from the neck down, warming and stretching muscles cramped from maintaining the same position for too long. As she did arm circles, it helped that the second chair was currently unoccupied giving her some additional room; though it wasn't the pull in her shoulders that made her frown as she considered Leoben's more frequent absences.

Should she be worried that the Two was spending an increasing amount of time with the passengers each passing day? Were they plotting something together? And if so, how could she find out what it was?

Abruptly realizing that she was just standing there glaring at the empty seat, Kara resumed her exercises, moving on to knee lifts…and wishing again that she'd taken Sam up on the offer of his socks. She had refused, and in the days since had regretted it as the chill of the deck plating traveled from her bare feet up her legs and made sleeping in the pilot's seat even more uncomfortable.

Being enclosed within the Raider with Leoben and the others had also triggered the return of Kara's nightmares and she had been frequently waking with a panicked jolt, unsure if the echo of screams were just in her head or real. And then there was the new reoccurring dream had recently been added to the mélange that harrowed her sleep. She could recall bits of it: she was in a cathedral unlike any she'd ever seen before and there were footsteps rushing towards her, and though there was something peculiar about their sound, she wasn't afraid. Each time she woke before finding out who was coming for her. The dream seemed so at odds with the rest her nightmares that Kara felt more unsettled after waking from it than if she'd been reliving one of those of her time in detention.

Well, at least there was one thing she was ardently thankful for: that there hadn't been any more twistedly erotic dreams of Leoben. Added to the stress she was already under, that would have been too much, and Kara was disturbingly certain that on waking from such a dream, she would've emptied her pistol into Leoben…and might not even have stopped with just him.

As she paused in her modified workout, she considered the Two's recent behavior, realizing that even when in the cockpit, he'd been acting differently. On the basestar and their first day on the Raider, he had continued to study her as if thinking to unravel some vast mystery just by staring at her for hours on end. But that had changed since they'd jumped from the algae planet. Now his eyes shifted away whenever she glanced over, and there was a new tentativeness in his voice when he spoke. It was both a vast relief and a real concern. While not having his unnerving regard on her all the time calmed a turbulent place within her, Kara questioned what had triggered the transition in his demeanor.

She didn't trust him.

Leoben had to be working an angle on her, and as Kara started to alternate squats and lunges between the two seats, she worried at what new scheme he was setting in place. A reassuring touch to the pistol at her waist confirmed that she was at least ready this time. Let the frakker move against her now and he'd find out if all his talk of having a soul was truth or bullshit.

Finishing the last set, Kara welcomed the burn in her quads as a distraction. Finally she stood and stretched each leg while fervently wishing again for the luxury of a shower. Patting at her forehead with the underside of her tanktop collar probably left a smear of dirt behind, but at least it kept the sweat from her eyes. A few deep breathes and she was done.

Now what?

Kara pressed fingertips to her forehead, attempting to fight off the exhaustion-induced headache as she considered her options.

She should probably try to eat something, but her appetite had been practically non-existent for days now, and the thought of food just reminded her of Galactica. Wishing now that she'd taken time to look for evidence that the Fleet had returned to the algae planet after the basestars had departed, Kara could only trust that they'd been able to sneak back and replenish their food processors. Not knowing to ask, she was still unaware of the missing week between when she had entered the mandala for the first time and when she'd crash-landed the Raptor.

As it was, the compulsion to press on decided it for her, and Kara settled into pilot's seat again and began feeding numbers into the ship's NAV system. After confirming that the Raider's engines had had enough time to cool, she gave the yoke a light jiggle, rocking the craft and giving the others notice that she was about to initiate a jump. The sound of a few raised voices confirmed that they'd gotten the none-too-subtle hint and it brought a wane smirk to her lips before she engaged the engines and toggled the FTL drive for the next series of jumps.

[ I I I I I ]

Galen's relief was profound.

The shock on discovering that the highly respected Captain Kelly was behind the bombing attacks on Baltar's lawyers paled in comparison to the relief that Tyrol felt at having vindication that he hadn't been involved. And though suspicion had been cast his way before, the difference this time was that he couldn't be _certain_ he was innocent. As the search for the culprit narrowed to those with access, he had made a point to never be alone, figuring that he'd have an alibi if another bombing occurred and if he unknowingly _was_ the saboteur, it would at least deny his Cylon programming future opportunities.

So when the second bomb was found attached to the Raptor that had been meant to carry Lee Adama and Baltar's newest legal hack, Galen had been reasonably sure that he couldn't have planted it there.

Reasonably sure.

Kelly's confession had finally released the apprehension that had been gnawing at Galen's resolve to keep his secret.

Their secret.

Now, as Galen stood alone in the empty chamber after Tory and Tigh had departed, he considered the past few weeks. Since the revelation of who…or what…the three of them were, this was the third time they had met in private. They weren't plotting. The gathering was just a way for each to assure themselves of the truth of their circumstances and that the others weren't going to suddenly out them or hadn't started acting on some subliminal programming. It was a risk meeting like this, but Galen had felt better afterwards; each time reminding him that he wasn't alone, that there were at least two others that understood the upheaval his world had taken.

As he took another moment to sort his thoughts, he acknowledged that another upheaval was coming that had nothing to do with him. The trial of Gauis Baltar was due to start tomorrow. Now that the former President's latest attorney had recovered enough from his injuries, the Admiral had notified Tyrol to arrange for the conveyance of the chosen members of the Captains' Board to Galactica to beginning hearing evidence in the case. For Galen, the verdict was a foregone conclusion and he only hoped that he could be present when they flushed the traitorous bastard out the airlock.

An inner voice mocked him at the ironic nature of his thoughts. Wasn't he likely to face the same fate if anyone uncovered his secret? And hadn't he been the one to call a halt to the Star Chamber after almost doing the same to an innocent Gaeta?

Galen ran both hands through his hair and gave a frustrated huff of air. Baltar was different, he tried to assure himself. Even before the Cylons' return, the malfeasance of his administration on New Caprica was inexcusable. The man's surrender to the Cylons and then his willingness to act as a figurehead for the Occupation were facts. Everyone knew the truth.

Pushing aside the continuing sense of disquiet, he checked his watch and saw that it was time to meet up with Cally. As he slipped unseen from the chamber, Galen's thoughts shifted to the quiet dinner he had planned for the evening. He had made arrangements for Nicky to stay at the daycare for several additional hours and was looking forward to some time alone with his wife.

Galen had found that in the wake of the revelation of his true identity, the potential loss of his family had reminded him of how much they meant to him. So he had made a point to schedule at least one meal every few days where he would bring two servings of whatever processed algae offering on the menu that day to their cabin for he and Cally to share alone together. At first their discussions naturally covered what had happened on the flight deck that day or with Nicky, but on relaxing, they had rediscovered the intimacy of the early days of the colonialization of New Caprica.

That evening, after both of their passions had been spent, he lay with the petite form of his wife in his arms and considered the truths of his life: he was Galen Tyrol, a Chief in the Colonial Fleet, but more importantly, he was a husband and father. Stroking the cascade of Cally's dark hair as she dozed, he held firm to these things that he was certain proved that he was still the man he had always been.

As Cally shifted and stretched, "Hey there," he whispered into her ear, then dropped a kiss on the crown of the back of her head.

"That was nice," she murmured as she rolled to face him.

"Only nice?" He gave her a mock-hurt look and was surprised when a slight blush warmed her cheeks.

"Ok, _extra_ nice," she conceded, then poked him for his teasing. "You know what I mean."

"Extra nice is nice, too." Smiling, he caressed a hand along the curve of her bare hip, his fears and insecurities muffled for the moment. He closed his eyes as she reached forward and ran her fingers through his hair and down his neck, but opened them again as he felt her hand stop at his shoulder and noticed the slight tensing in the muscles beneath his palm.

"What's wrong?" Her quietly spoken question took a moment to register. When it did, he went absolutely still as panic locked him in place. "Galen?" Her tone was edged with worry now at his reaction.

Forcing his throat to open, "Nothing—" he started, but at her frown, "What are you talking about?" he asked, desperate to get some handle on what she suspected…or knew.

"Something's going on." She poked his chest again, but with none of the playfulness of a moment ago. "You've been acting strange. Just kinda pissed off all the time, Galen. Why?" Her face tightened and a quiver entered her voice. "Did I do something?"

Guilt twisted his stomach. He thought he'd hidden his temper and dread better than that and wondered if Cally was the only one to notice. Probably not. Scrambling now for a way to deflect her, he cleared his throat and went with the first thing that might sound plausible.

"It's Starbuck." At her perplexed look, "I should have checked her Raptor. If I had…" he trailed off and as understanding cleared Cally's expression, felt a new guilt at having to lie to her.

"Galen, we don't even know if that had anything to do with it," she firmly said, but he noticed that she had avoided actually acknowledging Kara's death and wondered if she felt some responsibility, too.

"Maybe not," he slowly agreed, hoping she'd think that her words had reassured him.

The ship's intercom signaling the call to Third Watch provided a welcome distraction and he shifted away to rise from their bunk.

"I'll go pick up Nicky if you'll take the trays back to the mess?" he offered as he donned pants and tanks without looking over towards her.

"Galen?" The plaintive way she said his name warned that she hadn't been completely mollified, and he returned to where she sat on the edge of the bed. Leaning over, he pressed a quick kiss to her brow.

"Everything's fine. Really," he insisted, then added, "I'll be glad when the trial's over, just in case someone else decides to take up where Kelly left off."

That idea apparently hadn't occurred to Cally, and Galen could've kicked himself as he saw fear darken her eyes.

_Oh, crap._

He'd only meant to throw out another explanation for his recent behavior, never intending to renew the anxiety they'd all experienced when the unknown saboteur had been menacing Galactica.

"Cally, I'm sure we're safe now," he firmly stated, giving her a gentle shake to divert her building dismay.

"I guess." Her tone only slightly reassured.

"Nothing's going to happen," he said. "Two, three days tops, and then the Admiral will find Baltar guilty and we can move on." After giving her another searching look, "I'll be back soon with Nicky," he said and turned to leave.

"Galen…I love you," came her words from behind him…and guilt squeezed the breath from his chest.

Not daring to look around at her in case she misunderstood the conflict in his expression, he opened the hatch, and stepping through said over his shoulder, "Love you, too."


	123. Chapter 123 Nebulous Resolutions

Chapter 123 Nebulous Resolutions

As the Ionian Nebula bloomed across the Raider's window slits, Kara's breath caught in her throat at the vibrant colors. It was startlingly beautiful and for a moment everything else receded before the humbling tableau.

_Gods, I've missed this!_

Shaking herself free of the enthralling view, Kara dropped her reluctant gaze to the Dradis and glared at the lack of Colonial transponders lighting its screen. Swallowing the fear that she was too late, she reminded herself that it was still possible that they had just arrived ahead of Galactica. Yet she couldn't completely silence the other voice that whispered that it was also just as likely that she'd once again been too slow, that the Fleet had already been in-system and moved on.

Jabbing commands into the console, she set the Heavy's sensors to search for any evidence or emissions that would indicate that a large group of vessels had recently occupied this section of space. If Galactica had been here within the last few days, there was still the chance that a dispersion trail would at least linger long enough to point them in the right general direction.

With the system set to automatically perform a grid search, Kara leaned back and rested her eyes. She had hoped—prayed—that they'd find the Fleet still occupying the Nebula. But if they had already come and gone…

She sat up again, too consumed by bitter disappointment to rest. Rubbing at gritty eyes with her knuckles, she tried to decide what to do next if the search came up empty. Did she push on, randomly jumping in the hopes of stumbling across the Fleet's trail, or should she hold station here on the chance that they'd beaten the battlestar to the Nebula?

"Frak," she muttered, trying to work some moisture back into her dry mouth.

Slapping the belt release, Kara stiffly stood and shifted her attention to the murmuring sound of voices from the passenger section. She frowned, really not wanting to go back there and deal with all the complications the various skinjobs represented. Her fingers unconsciously sought the reassurance of the gun's presence before she realized what she was doing and lowered her hand to her side. A rumble from her stomach called attention to the fact that it had been too many hours since she'd last eaten—or even had anything to drink—and that she needed to take care of herself if she was going to be able to stay sharp and ready in case there _was_ a confrontation coming.

Straightening her shoulders, Kara took a deep breath and strode aft.

As the murmur grew into recognizable words, she caught the tail-end of Ellen Tigh's comment, "…way we can be certain," and four heads swiveled her way with varying degrees of caution reflected in their eyes.

Sweeping them with a uniformly smug grin, "Don't let me interrupt," she said with false cheerfulness as she surveyed the group. Reading nothing but a deep hostility in D'Anna's expression, Kara ignored her and turned her gaze to the others. Ellen appeared as composed as ever while Sam looked relieved to see her and ready to rise, but he subsided at the coolness in her eyes.

Reluctantly turning her full attention to Leoben, Kara's eyes narrowed on his bruised jaw and split lip. Based on the coloring, the damage looked to be a day or two old, yet she couldn't remember noticing it before now. Searching her memory for when she'd last seen the Two, she frowned, disturbed that in her increasingly exhausted push to their destination, she hadn't been more aware of his absence in the cockpit. Why had he suddenly gone from insisting on being at her side continuously to avoiding her? And a side-glance at Sam's hands was sufficient evidence of _who_ had caused the damage, but the _why now_ still eluded Kara.

Leoben's discolored face wasn't the only change she realized, struck again by the diffidence in his posture. Gone was the absolute assurance he had always conveyed before—even while being tortured on the Geminon Traveler—instead, the set of his shoulders and the way he held his arms tightly crossed gave her the impression that he was holding back a great need.

Perplexed by the alteration, Kara scrutinized him before deciding that he didn't look like someone plotting a mutiny. If anything, he appeared a person that had suffered a devastating epiphany. Not that she felt any sympathy for bastard she reminded herself. No, it was only important because it made predicting the Two's actions more difficult if she suddenly didn't know what motivated him. She mentally shrugged; all she could do was keep a better eye on him.

At the lingering silence, "We're at the Ionian Nebula," she informed them. "We wait for the Galactica here, so everyone get comfortable." Without giving them time to respond, she turned away and moved over to open the storage crate that held what remained of the Raider's MREs. After picking one at random from the unmarked selection, she then flipped the lid on another box and rummaged among the empties until she found an unopened bottle of water. From the looks of their remaining supply, the others hadn't been rationing at all and a flicker of ready anger made her slam the top back on before twisting around.

Her eyes flitted about the cabin as she noticed that they were suddenly a person short, then realized that D'Anna must have disappeared into the tiny head. Shoving aside her unease at having the Three out of sight, she watched as Ellen released the restraint belts that had still held the older woman in her place.

"I take it we can safely leave our seats now without the risk of your tossing us about?" Ellen acerbically asked.

"Probably," replied Kara with a careless shrug, not feeling the need to apologize for her manner of alerting them of upcoming jumps. They both knew that it was her way of putting the Cylons literally in their place, and while Ellen Tigh _probably_ wasn't aligned with the other skinjobs, Kara certainly didn't have any proof that she should trust the XO's wife either.

Watching Sam solicitously steady the woman as she straightened to her feet, Kara frowned. Had Ellen's hand lingered just a little too possessively on his arm? And had the brief look they shared hinted of an intimacy that she hadn't noticed before?

As Kara wondered just how close the pair had become in the past months, she was surprised to feel a stir of jealousy and looked away only to meet Leoben's shadowed gaze. This time his eyes didn't flit aside from her regard as he, too, stood. When he took a step towards her, Kara instinctively moved back, her heel connecting with the crate behind and halting her motion. Trying to play off her reaction, she hitched a hip up and half-sat on the top as she forced her expression into insolent unconcern, but knew that she hadn't fooled Leoben when he halted and his gaze dropped to the plating at his feet.

_What's his frakkin' problem?_

Hoping to get some idea of where his head was, "Thought we were conserving water," she asked, shaking the bottle in explanation as his eyes lifted to hers again. Twisting the cap off, she chugged half the contents without taking her gaze from his.

"We've plenty for at least five more days," his neutral answer.

"It was _suppose_ to be enough to last for twice that long," she said, her tone grim as she screwed the lid back on and set the bottle beside the unopened MRE packet.

She felt more than saw Sam sidle closer as he quietly said, "Kara, you know that if Galactica isn't here by then, we've got to head for the basestar's rendezvous point."

"Not happening," her reply framed in steel. "We stay or follow the fleet."

"You know where they're going?" Ellen skeptically asked.

Kara gave her a guarded look before answering, "Maybe." Then, ignoring the evident doubt conveyed in the other woman's compressed lips, she firmly added, "We give it five days here, then move on."

"You heard him," Sam gave a twitch of his head in Leoben's direction. "We don't have the supplies to just cast on the slim chance we come across Galactica," he pressed. As he moved to her side, Kara's temper heated to a slow burn. Didn't even Sam get it? There was no way in hell that she was ever willingly returning to the basestar. She'd had enough. Whatever happened out here, Kara was determined to never again find herself at the Cylons' mercy. Restraining the impulse to reach again for the comfort of the weapon, she propped her knuckles on her hips instead and gave him a hard look.

"We go on, not back."

"We can restock and continue," Leoben carefully put in, and Kara eyed him from half-lidded lashes as he added, "It'll only delay us by a few of days." At her skeptical look, "The rendezvous coordinates are closer than I would've expected," he explained.

Kara stiffened, his revelation that the basestar's supposedly _pre-arranged_ meeting point was actually near enough to reach in such a short time sounding a discordant warning in her mind. Had the frakker's known all along where the Fleet had been heading? Or had the Cylons been tracking her since the initial jump? Leoben certainly could've made contact with a trailing Raider during one of the few times she'd grudgingly conceded to rest. And since he hadn't shared the coordinates, she had no way of knowing if it was a coincidence…or if the Cylons had found a way to relay updated numbers to him without her knowledge.

Suspicious that duplicity instead of remorse was a better explanation for his recent behavior, Kara's hand rose to her waist, but a grip on her wrist stopped the motion and her gaze leaped to Sam's as he gave her the smallest of headshakes. She was about to yank free when the sound of a hatch opening pulled her attention to another possible threat source and she twisted to see D'Anna heel-kick the door of the lavatory closed behind her.

"I see you've all been getting friendly while I was indisposed," the Three mocked, and Kara's hand instinctively strained towards the gun again.

But as Sam's grasp held firm, Kara's gaze whipped back to his and she said through gritted teeth, "Get off of me," and the acrimony in her eyes forced him to reluctantly release her and retreat a half pace.

"Now where's that loving couple I remember?" taunted D'Anna, but this time Kara didn't turn, her attention focused on trying to leash her building anger. The Three wasn't done though as she smugly continued, "Oh ya, that's right. There's _Apollo_ to consider. Just how has the Commander been? I imagine that the two of you've had loads of time over the past few months to…_catch up_. Especially with the inconvenient hubby safely dead."

Guilt and rage clashed within her as Kara saw Sam's eyes darken with jealous doubt. The urge to assure him that nothing had happened between her and Lee was at odds with the knowledge that she now regretted that it hadn't.

"That's enough, D'Anna," admonished Ellen, making a shooing motion for the woman to back off. Moving closer until she caught Kara's gaze, Ellen said, "I understand that you want to get back to the Galactica, so do I," she paused briefly and Kara saw her expression flicker with longing before refocusing and she repeated, "I do, too. And I know how exhausted you must be, what with the nightmares and all." Kara's eyes widened and darted between Ellen and Sam, noting the flash in his eyes as he looked over her shoulder to where Leoben stood silently watching.

"Nightmares?" she tightly demanded, already guessing what the older woman meant but futilely hoping otherwise.

"Not surprising after all you've been through," Ellen cast a disapproving frown towards the pair beyond Kara's line of sight.

"What I've been through?" Kara knew she sounded ridiculous repeating Ellen like this and yet she didn't want to accept that the four of them had been discussing her. Which was stupid, she thought mockingly. Of course they had. And as the older woman gave her a pitying look, it confirmed that some of what had happened on New Caprica had certainly come up, too. It would also likely explain Leoben's recent injuries—and Sam's part in them. But Kara liked to think that if Sam knew everything that had happened, Leoben would have more than a few bruises to show for it.

Kara's bitterness deepened as Ellen continued.

"Yes, and Leoben deeply regrets what he put you through."

Now Kara swung slowly around, her eyes raking the Two as she harshly said, "Bullshit," and watched him flinch under her flaying glare.

"Kara, don—" Sam started.

"Leave off!" she snapped, and shook loose of his restraining hand to advance on the sandy-haired Cylon.

"You regret it?" her tone dared Leoben to defend his actions.

He seemed to gather himself as if attempting to pull the cloak of his former assurance about him to ward off the condemnation in her eyes.

"I regret I caused you harm, Kara. It wasn't my intent," he quietly responded. "My plan was to find someone to love and hope she'd love me back. And then try _anything_ to get her to stay."

"Even if that meant using frakkin' lies and somebody else's child?" she growled, barely able to get the words past her clenched jaw.

"In my arrogance, I thought my visions were proof that you would love me. And-and—" he briefly faltered, then pressed on, "I assumed that securing that love was worth any means."

Kara was shaking her head, his talk of love touching on too many memories of a childhood spent seeking proof of her mother's, and then marred further by all the different forms of pain she'd come to associate with allowing another person to get that close.

Somehow Leoben had shifted nearer, and he lowered his voice as he leaned in to say, "We had a connection. I know you fought it. But you felt it."

"The only thing I felt was your blood on my hands, bastard," her words tarred with warning as she refused to be the one to back away this time.

"Leoben," Ellen's tone held a note of censure as if correcting an errant child.

Kara saw him glance at the older woman and his expression tightened before he gave an acknowledging nod and withdrew a pace.

When his eyes returned to hers, they were shadowed once again as he endured her hostile glare and murmured, "How is it possible for someone to love and hate someone as much as you do me?"

…and it was all Kara could do not to fling herself at his throat.

Instead she ground out, "You got the hate part right," then took a steadying breath, realizing that she was letting him get inside her head again—not that she'd ever really been able to scour him out in the months since New Caprica. The stain of his 'love' had left her with a taint that no amount of talking seemed able to blot away.

Silence stretched out as his hooded gaze held Kara's.

Then D'Anna's challenging tone shattered their standoff as she said, "If the basestar's that close, I vote we go now." All eyes turned to her as she added, "I've had enough of this farce and besides, no one asked if I _wanted_ to come along on this fool's errand in the first place!"

"An alliance is important, my dea—" Ellen tried to say, only to be interrupted by the Three's harsh laugh.

"It's _never_ gonna happen," D'Anna derisively stated. With a scornful nod towards Kara and Leoben, "Look at them. Humans aren't gonna forgive and you're all blind and stupid if you think otherwise." And as Ellen's lips thinned, she went on, "And I'm not gonna be stuck here for another five days while those two thrash out their issues until either she kills him or Leoben fraks her senseless in front of us."

D'Anna's words were barely out of her mouth before Sam was on her, shoving the Three against the bulkhead with his forearm across her throat.

"Keep your mouth shut!" he yelled in D'Anna's startled face.

Before anyone had a chance to react to Sam's attack, the proximity alarm sounded, jerking Kara's attention around and she rushed to the cockpit. Elation surged through her as the Dradis display showed multiple 'hostile' symbols lighting its screen with even more appearing as she avidly watched.

It was the Fleet.

She hadn't been too late. Not this time!

"Yes!" Her palm smacked the panel with relieved vindication.

But then the indicators began to flash and Kara watched dumbfounded as the Colonial icons began disappearing from the board.

_What…_

The Heavy Raider's lights began to flicker and across the panel the gauges erratically dropped as the shuttle lost power.

Abruptly the entire system went down.

Blind in the resulting absolute blackness, Kara fought panic and groped her hands along the ship's toggles and switches, trying desperately to initiate some response—any response from the ship.

Slapping the metallic surface now in frustrated fear, Kara lifted her gaze and realized that there was some illumination visible from the nebula through the visor slits. And she saw that Galactica and her consorts had jumped in close enough that their own lights were discernible. Yet, even as her eyes clung to them, Kara could see the nearest failing and watched in growing horror as a rolling blackout spread from vessel to vessel.

In her chest it felt like her heart stopped as Kara envisioned the now-powerless ships drifting helpless. It had to be a trap…and she had just sprung it for the Cylons.

Her breathless despair turned to sick rage as the Raider's emergency lighting finally came on. The gun was in her hand as Kara spun and covered the short distance aft in a rush. She was on Leoben before he even had a chance to voice the question he'd started to frame, pistol whipping him across the temple and then driving him to the metal decking with a flurry of punches from her free fist.

Standing over his prostrate form_, "What did you do? Trigger an EMP burst?"_ she shouted, her voice cresting on dread and hate_. "The Fleet's dead in space,_ _you motherfrakker!"_ He grunted as the ball of her foot slammed into his side.

Gasping up at her, "You can't…think I had…anything to do with that," he protested, eyes seeking hers as Kara leveled the gun on his head.

The grip of the pistol felt slick in her damp palm and Kara tightened her hold as the flush of betrayal fed the rage. Through her clenched jaw she ground out, "While I was too busy believing in some godsdamn destiny, you setup an ambush. I let you frak me all over again. Believed the lies. Only it won't be just me you frak this time, will it." Again her voice rose in a shout, "_WILL IT!"_ she demanded and followed with another vicious kick to his ribs. "It was a setup. Say it!"

She was leaning over him now, heedless of the danger in getting too close; but Leoben didn't move to disarm her. He remained placid instead, drawing careful breaths as he grimaced up at her.

"Hit me. Hit me again," he offered, eyes opaque and his bloody face a mask now.

"You _used_ me to lead you to the Fleet," she bitterly accused.

He grimaced, tonguing his bleeding lip as he held her gaze. "How many times did you kill me on New Caprica? Don't stop now. Go on, do it," he goaded. "I won't come back this time, that I promise. The resurrection ship's well out of range this time." Jutting his chin, "Go on, do it…" Then harshly, "_DO IT!"_ he yelled, voice stained with desperate contrition.

Kara clutched the pistol's grip as she flinched away from Leoben's shouted demand. She wanted to. The gods knew how much she wanted to do exactly that: to shoot him between the eyes, to watch his head explode backwards, to maybe finally end the painful conflict he incited in her. Her hand trembled with her need, yet she found herself unable to will the necessary motion.

All she had to do was squeeze the trigger...

"Just do it already," D'Anna's derisive voice came from behind Kara. "It's what you've wanted every since he raped you. So get on with it," she prodded, then stumbled back as Kara spun in place, gun slashing out to slam into the Three's forehead. D'Anna fell against Sam who promptly flung her aside as his shocked gaze locked on Kara's enraged face.

Her eyes met his blue ones and she realized that Sam hadn't know _all_ that Leoben had done to her—at least not until that moment. Shame doused much of her rage and she twisted back to see Leoben regarding her with the remorse so at odds with his usual guise.

"I'm sorr—" he began, then broke off with a gasp as his leg splintered beneath the impact of a bullet.

"Sorry! You're frakkin' sorry?" she spat out, bring the gun again in line with his face as she attempted to stoke the rage back to the surface. Anything to smear away the disgust she visualized filling Sam's expression behind her. But as much as she needed the anger, it chose now to gutter out and Kara bitterly knew why. She deserved the revulsion her husband was undoubtedly feeling towards her. Hadn't she had a choice on New Caprica? It might have been impossible to fight her way free from the detention center, but there had been one means of escape open to her—and she'd been too cowardly to do it. She had let Leoben use her…and now Sam knew she had.

All of Laura's words were forgotten in an avalanche of self-loathing as Kara stood over her tormentor with her ex-dead husband at her back. Unable to recognize another path, she fell into the ingrained method of preservation she'd learned over painful years—she lashed out. Lifting her bare foot, Kara stomped down on the exposed bones of Leoben's lower leg and felt the Two writhe in agony. But she wasn't prepared for the feel of pulped flesh beneath her heel and it flung her back into another time, sending her reeling when the apartment on New Caprica coalesced around her.

"No, no, no, no," Kara moaned as she pressed her palm to her forehead, frantic to push through the memory. It worked: the Raider's interior abruptly snapped into place around her again. She was breathing hard as she stared down at the panting Two and the spreading pool of red by his mangled calf.

Lifting the gun, she sighted down its barrel and held Leoben's pained gaze. Yet she didn't squeeze the trigger. Her hand slowly wavered and then fell to her side as she acknowledged the disconsolate grief in his eyes. The dregs of her anger were wet ash in her mouth and her thirst for vengeance had been doused at the same time.

As a deep chill swept apathy through her, Kara didn't resist when the weapon was taken from her hand. In her peripheral vision, she saw a muscled arm raise the gun and then the piercing echo of a shot rang in her ears as Leoben's head was flung back by the force of the projectile.

She blinked with incomprehension and slowly turned to the man at her side. Sam still stood with the pistol extended in readiness to shoot again, and a distant part of Kara knew that she should say something, but the cold held her frozen in a glacier of lassitude.

"The bastard'll never touch you again."

The sound of Sam's hoarse voice barely registered, but D'Anna's jeering laughter shifted Kara's eyes to where the woman still lay sprawled, looking amused at what had played out before her and oblivious to the danger that she might be next. As Sam twisted to face the Three, Ellen stepped between them, her shocked pallor evident despite the poor lighting.

"Enough!" she snapped, hand against his chest as she repeated, "Enough, Samuel."

Anders shook his head and looked ready to shove past the older woman when Kara found her own voice speaking without her conscious thought.

"She's right... No more. Can't risk it." Kara honestly wasn't sure whether she meant risk what further damage gunfire might to do the craft…or to her own frozen state, feeling like it would take but a nudge and she would irretrievably shatter.

Something of her condition must have gotten through to Sam, for he tucked the gun away and stalked off to a corner without another word. Kara was distantly grateful…and as distantly pained by his withdrawal—the evidence of his rejection.

"Kar—" Ellen's soft inquiry was interrupted by the sound of the ship's systems coming online and the harsh illumination of its usually lighting.

As the Raider's power ramped up, Kara's sense of inertia was abruptly broken and she swiveled to race forward, frantic to check the Fleet's status. A quick glance through the narrow viewpanes confirmed that the Colonial vessels had also regained power and the Dradis signaled their reassuring presence once more. Her eyes searched the readout for some sign of Cylon vessels, but hers appeared to be the only one in-system. Fearing that that might not be the case at any moment, Kara keyed the communications, eager to alert the Admiral to her situation and to warn him of the Cylon treachery. After all, just because the area was clear of basestars now, it didn't mean it was going to remain so for much longer. She needed to dock the Heavy ASAP so the Fleet could jump away before that changed.

Static feedback met her attempts to bring the comm online.

She stared in disbelief at the red indicator light that reported the malfunction and caught her breath on a sharp inhale. The irony that the gunshots that had injured and killed Leoben had then gone on to penetrate the Raider's decking and damaged the comm unit was almost enough to wrench away Kara's thin grasp on her sanity. Her gaze lifted and it was as if she could see Galactica's defenses coming to bare on them. Soon surrounding space would be filled with a swarm of Vipers intent on blowing her from existence—and this time she hadn't had the forethought to tape her name on the undercarriage of the shuttle.

With eyes screwed shut, Kara futilely pounded her fists on the console and cursed the gods for their malicious game of give and take. As despair filled her, she wondered if it would be Lee that triggered the missile that would obliterate her into mere particles and complete her journey to failure.

The thought of the younger Adama abruptly snapped her upright in the seat and Kara glared out at the visible bulk of the battlestar. Then her hands flew across the panel, killing the drive and cutting off power to all the systems. She even cut life-support and the reflexively shivered as the Heavy was plunged into darkness once again. From the aft section she could hear the swears and sounds of people colliding with objects as the light went out again. She ignored them, intent on only what she hoped was happening on the distant ship.

Would the Old Man choose to investigate the lone Raider? She knew that her system's fluctuations had to be as apparent to him as his was to her—or so she hoped. If he would just be curious enough to have a Raptor haul them aboard, she'd get the chance to reveal herself. On the other hand, the Admiral was as likely—maybe more so given the power outage—to order the Cylon ship destroyed and jump immediately away. All she could do was appear as non-threatening as possible and hope that the gods weren't quite done playing with one Kara Thrace.

Heavy breathing warned her of his approach before Sam spoke.

"Damn it, Kara. What the frak's happening," he demanded from just behind her shoulder.

"Comm's dead. So are we if Galactica doesn't buy our harmless act," she relented enough to answer. As his presence shifted, she could tell that he was groping his way towards the second chair and heard the cushion give beneath his settling weight.

Then, "About what that basta—" his disembodied voice was taut with emotions she couldn't unravel, but she cut him off.

"Shut up, Sam," she ordered, surprised at how composed her own sounded.

"I didn't know, Kara, or I swear I would've killed him before," he hastily tried to explain.

"What about shut up don't you get," now her words were fletched in edged steel.

"It's jus—"

"NO!We are _NOT_ discussing this!" and like that, the steel glowed fiery red as if just pulled from the furnace and spliced through his protest. Then, trying to quench the burst of fury, Kara gripped the armrest of her seat and took several slow breaths. Forcing her words to calmness, "Where's the others?" she asked, and could almost feel his gaze as he strove to pierce the darkness between them—if only it were just due to the lack of light.

Finally, "Ellen insisted on D'Anna belting back into her seat," he said, then bitterly added, "as if that'll keep her quiet." He then huffed an incredulous laugh. "Used to be that I liked the Threes. At least I remember liking them before Cavil made a point in causing a division between our models. The Threes used to be fun to be around. Witty and sexy as hell…" he trailed off, abruptly aware of what he'd said and probably afraid how she'd take it.

His slip rolled off her as the emotional yo-yo of the past hour—days_—weeks_ left Kara feeling a queasy fatigue that couldn't be rocked any further by such a benign comment.

Taking her silence as permission to continue, "I know she's the enemy. She certainly was on Caprica and New Caprica, but it's weird, this double-memory of how it was before," he said, sounding baffled and frustrated at his inability to reconcile the disparate realities.

"She's a frakkin' Cylon, what do you expect," Kara replied before even realizing she had. And she didn't have to see to know that Sam had flinched at the rancor in her tone. Muttering a curse under her breath, "Didn't mean it like that," she muttered, feeling the need to apologize. After all, it wasn't his fault that he was a skinjob…not anymore than it was hers that she was a whore, right? Lost in the logic—or illogic—of that thought, Kara didn't notice the flicker of the thrusters of the first launch of Vipers.

"Shit! Now what?" Sam's question took a moment to sink in and Kara squinted out, eyes narrowing as she spotted the closing fighters.

"Pray, Sammie," she murmured in response.

As the Colonial attack craft entered what she calculated was firing range, Kara considered adding her own prayers, but decided against it. If the gods weren't interested in listening to her pleas, well then she didn't feel much like wasting the effort on them either. Besides, whatever happened in the next few seconds wasn't going to be changed by a few fervent words of worship.

It took all of her resolve to not reach for the Raider's weapons control; sitting vulnerable when she had other options went against the grain on a gut-deep level that made her palms itch. Seeking a distraction and any idea that might increase their odds of not being turned into floating debris, Kara weighed the pros and cons of trying to signal with the shuttle's external lights.

Rubbing her damp palms along the stiff fabric of her sweatpants, she decided that their best bet was still to play dead. The irony of that cause a bubble of inappropriate mirth and she began to chuckle.

Play dead.

Well, since everyone in the Fleet probably thought that she, Sam and Ellen already were, it was a role they ought to be good at, right?

The sound of the man in the seat beside her quietly repeating what might have been curses as well as prayers was enough to curb the borderline hysteria that had threatened to dislodge Kara's thin grip on her control.

As the hostile Vipers came nearer, far closer than necessary for a sure shot, Kara began to actually believe that they might survive this day. She jumped though, when a jolt and ringing clang impacted the hull, at first thinking that she'd been wrong. But as the ship remained intact, her held breath hissed out on the realization that a Raptor must have used a grappling harpoon to hook her ship.

"Looks like we're about to rise from the dead after all, Sammie," she quipped, running hands through her tangled hair, abruptly aware of exactly how shocking her appearance—all of theirs—was going to be to the crew of Galactica. Not that it really mattered. There was no way she smelled worse than she had after flying the Cylon fighter back from that moon. If the stink came off before, she was sure that one of the Chief's scouring pads would do the job fine this time, too.

The thought of the Chief sent her mind spinning off on other tangents. Should she pretend that she didn't know about the three infiltrators until she had the chance to get the Admiral alone? Or was she better off immediately confronting them with her knowledge of what they were?

In the thin glow that filtered from the Raptor's thrusters through the visor slits, Kara squinted at the man in the second seat. The fact that he and Ellen were alive—and obviously Cylons—was going to give her the best opening she'd likely have. And they could back her accusations, too. Yet, if on her revealing their identity the Chief or the XO decided to fight, Kara knew that the Marines would undoubtedly be caught off guard, unprepared to believe her word—so recently returned from the dead herself—over men they knew and respected.

No, it would be better to fill in the Old Man privately. Give him time to come to terms with the truth before placing the three under arrest. What he would chose to do with them from there she didn't know, but she did still have the offer of an alliance to make. Well, that was once she got it straight whether the Cylons had betrayed her or not. And the longer that the basestars stayed conspicuously absent the less likely that they had. But if not them, then what _had_ caused every vessel in-system to loose power at nearly the exact same time? Was there something about the Ionian Nebula that intrinsically affected their ships? And if so, why had the power then apparently been restored on its own?

Shaking her head, Kara shoved aside the questions. First thing _she_ had to worry about was convincing the Old Man that she was really her and not a resurrected Cylon.

[ I I I I I ]

After a couple of weeks out of the cockpit, Lee felt strangely uncomfortable in the jocksmock, like he was trying to crawl back into a skin he'd shed. But when the power had gone out fleetwide, he hadn't hesitated. He didn't know what had hit them, yet the likelihood of it being the prelude to a Cylon attack was a given and he wasn't about to stand by while others defended the ship.

Now, as he nudged the altitude thrusters to shift just the slightest bit closer to the powered down Heavy Raider, Lee wondered again why he'd urged the Admiral to investigate the craft verses just immediately destroying it. The fact that it had apparently suffered the same drain on its systems as the Colonial ships wasn't explanation enough for his gut instinct to not just slag the vessel.

As he had sealed his helmet in prep for launch, Lee had heard Gaeta's report over his command comm that the enemy shuttle had regained power just as they had, yet had then voluntarily, he assumed, shut down everything, including life-support.

Why?

What game were they try to play now?

Lee figured that the Cylons had found some method of employing an EMP pulse to render the human ships helpless. And like everyone else, he had assumed as he launched in his Viper that he'd be facing overwhelming numbers in the futile hope of buying enough time for the fleet's FTLs to spinup from a cold start. But instead of multiple basestars and a hoard of Raiders, they faced only a lone Heavy that had all but rolled over and exposed its belly in surrender.

It smelled of a trap. Yet why would the Cylons bother? The Admiral had passed on to him that it would take a good fifteen minutes yet before they could expect to jump, so what were the Toasters waiting for?

The Vipers had been ordered into a formation that allowed them the optimum coverage and yet didn't spread them beyond support range of each other. So, if the Heavy's intentions had been to lure a group of the humans within a blast area, it wasn't going to succeed. In fact, Lee had commanded his wingman and flanker to maintain their distance while he eased cautiously in closer for a better look; with the Raider's power out, though, he hadn't been able to see anything through the small windows in its forward section. If there were skinjobs in there, he couldn't tell.

On reporting what he'd found he had urged the Admiral to retrieve the Raider, justifying the risk on the basis that if the Cylons had found some way of knocking the Colonial ships' systems offline, the more they learned about it the better. What he didn't tell his father was that there was this gut-deep familiarity, a sense of déjà vu that he couldn't shake. Either way, the Admiral had reluctantly agreed to try to salvage the vessel, assuming that the Cylons didn't suddenly make an appearance and make the matter moot.

Keying his intercom, "Athena, you ready to snag that thing?" Lee asked the arriving Raptor's pilot.

"Affirmative, Apollo. Just give me a minute here to align up and I'll have this can tagged," a pause, then, "You really sure we want to bring this home?" she asked, her tone hedged with doubt. "You know what they say about a can of worms, Sir."

"Haven't you ever been fishing?" he said, then grimaced as he realized that as a Cylon, she probably hadn't.

"No, Sir, I prefer seeing my dinner on a platter not a hook," she quickly responded and his discomfort passed.

"Well, here's your chance," he said. "Hook that thing and let's head back before bigger fish surface."

He watched as Athena maneuvered the shuttle into position and shot the grappling harpoon into place. Usually she would have used the maglock clamp instead, but it took time to attach and he'd ordered the Lieutenant to get the job done fast and dirty. Thus they were thrusting back towards Galactica's bulk in less than ten minutes and Lee had to decide whether to follow their prize in or maintain watch with the rest of the fighter screen.

"Galactica, Apollo. Say status on FTL," he requested of CIC.

His father's graveled voice responded. "Five, say again, five, Apollo." Then, "Turn our birds for home in four. That'll give time for the civies to clear out before we retrieve you. Actual out." Lee nodded, deciding that his place was beside his pilots until the recall was given.

Though, _his_ pilots wasn't exactly accurate anymore, he thought to himself, still galled by what had gone down between his father and himself over the choices he'd made while assisting in Baltar's defense. Recalling the bitter words they'd exchanged, Lee's hang tightened on the stick and the Viper shifted to starboard. Forcing his grip to loosen, he turned his thoughts from his dad and back to the mystery of the Heavy and what secrets it might hold.

When the All Return command came, he was surprised to realize that he'd been lost in thought for so many minutes. Toggling the comm, "Ok, that's it. Get them on deck people," he ordered and swept his gaze over the miniature Dradis, assuring himself that all the birds were safely inbound. Kicking his own fighter's thruster to full, he burned a path for home, the sense that something awaited him growing with each passing moment.

A short time later he popped the canopy, passing off his helmet to one of the deck crew as he clambered from the Viper and quickly descended the steps. He didn't bother asking where the Cylon shuttle had been towed, knowing that the Admiral would have kept it as distant from the other crafts as possible. Striding towards the furthest corner of the bay, the ring of black-clad Marines confirmed his goal. A glance upwards showed that the Admiral and Tigh were already observing from the catwalk.

He heard her voice before he saw her.

"Godsdamnit! What do I have to do to prove it?" she was yelling up at the two men above.

Lee shouldered his way between a pair of Marines and gaped at the sight of Kara Thrace standing a the base of the Heavy Raider's ramp with her hands on hips as she glared up at his father.

"_Lee, wait!"_

His father's shout barely registered as Lee flung himself across the intervening distance and clasped the startled figure in a crushing hug.

Gods! She was real. She was alive and here and returning his hug with a strength that nearly matched his own. As he tried to choke out her name into her hair, he felt the loosening of her grip and eased back enough to see her face.

She looked like hell—and the best thing he'd ever seen.

"Good to see you too, Sir," she murmured, tone sounding as complexly congested as his.

"Frak, Kara, wh—"

"Everyone step away!"

The Admiral's bellowed command cut him off and Lee looked up but didn't shift from his position. Even from here, his father's scowl was ominous, but nothing short of force was going to make Lee let go of Kara now. But then he felt her stiffen in his arms and slip her palms to push against his chest. Reluctantly releasing his hold, he searched her expression and was alternately reassured and alarmed by what he saw.

A soul-deep fatigue was evident in the way she stood, knees locked as if unsure of their support, and a foreboding apprehension tightened the corners of her eyes and mouth, but it was the resolve in the green of her eyes that held everything else at bay. Lee recognized that look. Few things in the universe would dare argue with Kara Thrace when she looked like that. It was the something that he hadn't realized had been missing since her return from New Caprica. And it gave him the fortitude to step back and let her handle the Admiral herself.

"Sir, I'll brief you on everything as soon as I can," she called up to Adama, then flicked a glance to the ramp, "but there are some other folks inside I need you to see first." She waited until she saw the Admiral nod, then ordered over her shoulder, "Come out slowly, hands up."

Lee's eyes widened as a white-clad female form hesitantly moved along the ramp with another woman in slacks and shirt following at her heels. His gaze shot to where Saul stood above, expression stunned as his wife came to a halt beside Kara.

Movement in his peripheral drew Lee's gaze back around as another figure in white descended and Samuel Anders moved to stand just an arms length behind Kara.

Total silence ruled the bay as people stared in shock at the four.

"Put them all in with the other one."

The Admiral's harsh voice broke Lee's paralysis and he moved to step between Kara and his father's line of sight. He glared challenging across the divide but was met with the uncompromising expression he recognized from too many confrontations between them in the past.

Changing his tack, "Starbuck should see Cottle," he stated, and even from here saw his father's lips thin before he gave a stiff nod.

"Alright," with a jabbed finger at two Marines, "escort her to sickbay. The rest to the Cylon holding cell," Adama ordered of the remaining squad. Then directed at Lee, "I want you in my quarters in ten," he snapped and Lee guessed that his dad had read the determination to go with Kara in his own expression and had decided to avoid a public showdown between them.

Lee gave a reluctant nod and watched as the Admiral turned to his XO where the man seemed glued to the railing and said something too low to carry. Whatever the words, Tigh jerked straight, tearing his gaze from the group below and moved to follow as his superior left the bay.

Lee felt the circle of Marines close on their small group and he returned his attention to the figure at his side and asked, "Think you still know the way to sickbay, Starbuck?" one eyebrow quirking up to be rewarded by an answering smirk.

"I think I can manage."

She slipped ahead of Lee to take the lead.

"Don't lose me this time,Apollo," she said.

He replied, "Oh, not a chance."


	124. Chapter 124 Prodigal's Return

Chapter 26B / 104 Prodigal's Return

Entering sickbay close on Kara's heels, Lee barely noted the startled looks from the staff. He _had_ noticed how her jaunty pace had slowed the farther they got from the flight deck as if the impetus that had been driving her forward was losing its strength with each stride. By the time they stepped across the threshold into the infirmary, it was all he could do not to reach for Kara's elbow to steady her.

Instead, "Get Cottle," he snapped out at the nearest attendant and came to a stop beside where Kara had halted. Her gaze met his and he was reassured by what he saw in her eyes. She might be exhausted but hadn't lost that indefinable spark again.

"Chill out, Lee. I'm fine," she said. He opened his mouth to respond, but broke off as a gruff voice behind him spoke.

"When are you ever, Captain?" Cottle bemusedly scoffed, then twitched his head to the nearest cubicle. "Let's seen what mess you've made of yourself this time."

Lee was surprised to see Kara's expression harden as she faced the doctor and he wondered why she was giving the man the look she usually reserved for someone she was about to introduce to the decking. As a possible explanation abruptly came to mind, he swallowed. In the euphoria over her survival, Lee had forgotten about the events leading up her disappearance in the first place.

Her next words seemed to confirm his suspicion.

"Had help this time, didn't I, Doc," she said, voice sharp with the accusation.

"Perhaps," Cottle brusquely said, not bothering to deny what she was inferring, then lifted a bushy eyebrow as if daring her to make something of it. As Lee saw Kara's fists clench at her side, he was afraid that she might actually take a swing at the senior physician.

Placing a palm on her shoulder, "Hey, ease up, Kara. He was just following orders," he put in, trying to blunt her spike of anger.

"Get off me, Adama," she bit out, shrugging his hand from its place yet maintaining her locked gaze with the doctor.

Lee was shocked by how quickly her mood had shifted and he attempted to catch her eyes as he tried to explain, "There weren't enough Raptor-qualified pilots. It was necessary—"

"Necessary? Necessary to lie to us…to me?" Now her gaze did swing to his and Lee wilted under the condemnation he read in their green depths. "We might not have had a choice, but we sure as frak deserved to know what that much radiation was gonna do to us!" Swiveling back to the older man, "I thought I could trust you enough not to cover for them!" she ground out, not needing to explain whom she meant.

"Why?" Cottle's blunt response seemed to disconcert Kara and she rocked back on her heels before her expression turned grim.

"Riiiight. Do as you're told. Keep your mouth shut." The betrayal in her eyes made Lee ache as she bitterly added, "Just like every other frakkin' doctor I've ever known."

This time her words must have hit their mark, for the physician looked away even as he wearily ordered, "Just get on the table, Thrace."

"_Yes, Sir_," she retorted before moving towards the indicated alcove.

"Kara—"

As he was interrupted by the black-clad Marine that stepped between them, Lee wasn't even sure what he'd been about to say. All he knew was that their moment of rapport had been shattered and her instant withdrawal didn't bode well for any attempt on his part to explain why he'd held back the information in the first place.

Frustration tightened his jaw as he started to step around the Marine only to be blocked as the woman shifted into his path again.

"Sir, the Admiral's waiting for you," she neutrally said, holding her position despite his narrow-eyed glare.

"Yeah, well he doesn't give me orders any more," he said, side-stepping but only to find himself blocked _again_.

Lee considered the advisability of pushing past the Sergeant and ignoring his father's summons, but huffed a breath as he realized that Cottle didn't need him supervising this exam…and Kara obviously wasn't in the mood for his company at the moment either. Grinding his teeth, he reluctantly came to the conclusion that his time was probably better spent running interference between Kara and the Admiral. His father's distrust had been evident even from the catwalk, and if he—or the President—decided that Kara was a Cylon agent, then she might be facing more than a simple charge of going AWOL.

Even as the thought came to him, Lee tried to shrug it aside. There was no way his dad would do that. Not to Kara. But the barest amount of doubt lingered and he swore that whatever happened he'd do a better job of protecting her. He purposefully ignored the inner voice that tried to protest that it was his attempt to do just that before that had now earned _her_ distrust. Instead, he glanced down at the woman's name badge and curtly said, "Fine, Sergeant Mathias, but I expect you to _defend _as well as guard her."

"Planned to, Sir," the Marine's resolute reply eased some of the tension in his chest as Lee resignedly turned away.

As he covered the distance between sickbay and the Admiral's quarters, Lee's emotions cycled through elation at Kara's survival, worry at what the Cylons might have put her through this go-around, frustration at having to leave her side and a growing anger at his father's cold reception.

A part of Lee understood that the Admiral had to keep the welfare of the Fleet foremost, but this was Kara! They'd thought they'd lost her for good only to be given yet another chance, and what does his dad do? Treats her like the enemy.

Reminded of the others that had returned with her, Lee's thoughts flinched from the ramifications of Sam Ander's presence. That he was a Cylon, one of the remaining five unknown models, was a foregone conclusion. But what his return—with Kara—meant left Lee apprehensive over how she still felt about her husband. Not that Anders was really her husband, he was a skinjob for-fraks-sake. Yet, as the image of Athena holding Hera and smiling up at Helo came to mind, Lee had to reluctantly admit that Anders being a Cylon wasn't the crux of the issue.

No. What really matter was whether Kara still loved the guy.

The marriage tattoo on Ander's arm might be gone, but that didn't mean that Kara's feelings had changed. Sure, she now knew that he was a Cylon, and since he had 'died' she'd been released from their marriage vows, but none of that meant that Kara was going to leave Sam. The fact that he was a skinjob and had lied about it should be reason enough for her to jettison him, but Lee knew how contrary she could be. That lesson had been painfully learned one brisk morning on New Caprica.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, trying to wipe away the jealous pain thoughts of Kara's marriage splashed across his soul. Hadn't she already told him how much she had loved Sam, and so now that he was back, which way would she jump?

Nodding a greeting to the Marine guarding his father's cabin, Lee pulled his disjointed thoughts back to the task at hand as the man knocked to announce his arrival. He heard the muffled command to enter and swung the hatch open only to pause, nonplused at the sight of the three people within. He bleakly realized that the presence of the President and XO shouldn't have surprised him, but somehow Lee had thought that he'd be facing just his father. Chiding himself for believing that they might share a private moment to deal with Kara's return, he stepped across the threshold, moving to the bar to pour himself a drink without waiting for an offer.

A deep voice broke the silence as he turned.

"How is she?" The question seemed to have slipped unwillingly from his father's lips and Lee saw them thin as if to prevent any more betraying ones from escaping.

"_What_ is she is really what we need to know," Roslin firmly interjected from her chair and Lee's eyes narrowed, not liking the cold calculation he saw in her expression.

"You can't believe Kara's a Cylon?"

"It has to be considered," she replied to Lee, but her words were obviously meant for the senior Adama as she shifted her gaze to where his father stood, arms crossed, balefully glaring at the couch.

Not caring that he was addressing the President, Lee snapped back, "There's nothing to consider. There's no way that she's a frakkin' skinjob!"

This was Kara. There was no way in hell he was going to let Roslin threaten to airlock her.

"Watch your mouth!" Tigh growled from his position across the room, hands clasped on the back of one of the empty chairs as if needing its support.

Lee's grip on the tumbler tightened as he shot the XO a hard look, then he took a breath, reminding himself that the man was obviously still reeling from finding out that not only was his wife alive, but a Cylon too. Still, it took a force of will to hold back a biting retort. Instead, he returned his attention to the only two people that really mattered.

"Dad, she's alive. It's Kara and she's alive," he said, voice low and yet fierce as he sought to draw his father's eyes.

"We don't know that, Major."

He ignored Roslin's misuse of his rank and took a step towards his father, wanting to demand that he look at him, agree with him.

_Damn it, what's your problem here? _

Yet, even as Lee mental berated him, he noticed the tense set of the Admiral's shoulders and grasped his dad's internal conflict as he sought to reconcile what he wanted to believe with what he dared to risk. When the figure in dress blues flexed fingers knobbed from age and finally turned, Lee searched the hazed eyes and was abruptly reminded that his father had been about to retire before the worlds had crashed down around them. There was a constant weariness now that made the nickname Old Man seem too painfully spot-on and it caused an ache in Lee's chest that had nothing to do with Kara.

Grieved by the evidence of his dad's mortality, Lee looked away only to have his gaze intercepted by Laura's knowing eyes. His jaw clenched as he faced yet another source of his father's deterioration. Impending grief hung about the elder Adama now like a dark aura and Lee was well aware that it was because of the return of Laura's cancer.

Despite his own self-involvement, Lee had finally realized the depth of the bond that had formed between the President and the Admiral. He had been one of the few people present during their reunion after the exodus from New Caprica and it had come as a shock when he had glimpsed the emotions hidden behind their public masks. Since then he'd been more cognizant of all the little exchanges between them.

And now Laura was dying—again.

In some ways he supposed it explained the shift he'd noticed in her. Time was once more counting down her remaining days and it didn't take a psych degree to understand how that leant itself to a ruthlessness escalation of her already well established pragmatism. But, regardless of why she was pushing for excessive caution where Kara was concerned or why his father seemed afraid to trust in the miracle of her return, Lee wasn't about to let either compromise her now. Not after she'd survived so much. Not after he'd been given _another_ chance to make things right.

Lifting his tumbler, he swallowed its contents in one go, grimacing at the burn before setting the empty glass aside.

"It's Kara. Cottle'll prove it," he said. Then added, "His assistant said they'd probably have the results of their tests in about an hour."

"And the..." Tigh hesitated, then continued, "the others?"

Lee frowned at the reminder that Samuel Anders had once more been added to the chaos that defined his and Kara's relationship.

"Obviously we now know two of the remaining five models," Roslin neutrally replied with a glance at Saul's tense form. "They'll need to be questioned," she added and Lee saw that she kept her gaze leveled on the Admiral now, ignoring how Tigh might react to her statement. As far as Lee could tell, the man seemed to have put a lock on himself after his initial outburst.

His attention shifted back to Roslin as she continued, "Perhaps they can identify the remaining three. It'll be a relief knowing whom we can trust."

This time the XO did react and Lee saw the man jerk. He was undoubtedly afraid of what interrogation tactics the President might advocate in pursuit of that information. On that front he and Lee were in agreement—there was no way he was going to allow _anyone_ to lay a hand on Kara. If Madame President thought otherwise she was about to discover what it meant to make an enemy of both Tigh and himself.

Afterall, he'd mutinied once, he thought, realizing that a coup wasn't beyond his boundaries anymore. Not if the President threatened Kara and the Admiral backed her.

His father seemed to gather himself and when he spoke, his voice was flatly neutral. "We'll have answers." As his gaze strayed back to the empty couch, "They came looking for _us_," he reminded them.

"What about the dead one?" Saul's voice rasped out.

_What?_

Lee blinked in confusion, eyes moving from one figure to another before settling on the Admiral as he shrugged.

"I imagine that Kara killed him," Laura said with only a slight pause over Kara's name.

"Killed who?" he asked when Roslin didn't add anything further. He saw her eyebrows lift slightly and then she gave a tiny nod.

"Of course, you wouldn't know." He frowned as she paused, but held his tongue as she gave another more decisive nod. "The guards found a body on the Raider. A Two model. I suspect…" her eyes dropped as she faltered before continuing, "I believe that it's Leoben. The same Two that held Kara on New Caprica," she finished in a rush, the first sign that she was more than coldly composed over the reveal of the Heavy's occupants.

Lee stiffened even as his mind raced over the implications of this news. In the elation at seeing Kara alive and then their argument in sickbay, he hadn't really had time to process what her presence with the skinjobs might mean. Sure, he'd been worried that they might have harmed her and concerned about the Admiral's and President's response to her return, but he had been resolutely avoiding thoughts of what she might have experienced at the Cylons' hands again.

Leoben's presence on the Raider brought that fear into clear focus now as he remembered Kara's telling him in bits and pieces of the mind-frak the Two had done to her. And the fact that Leoben hadn't limited himself to mentally tormenting her ate at Lee's self-control. Wishing suddenly that the Cylon wasn't already dead, that he was in Galactica's holding cell, Lee was abruptly certain that no POW regulations would've stopped him from castrating the bastard with his bare hands.

Shaking his head to lift some of the red from his vision, Lee took a shaky breath and realized that Laura and his dad were staring at him with matching concern on their faces.

"What happened to the bast—" catching himself, "—to it?' he asked.

Looking to the side as Tigh answered, "Bullet through the brain," Lee lifted an eyebrow and the XO obliged with more detail. "Marines reported that they found the body in the main compartment. Someone had plugged him twice. Once in the leg and then the head. Body's still warm."

Lee mulled over explanations for the envisioned scene and could only grimly hope that the frakker had suffered before he'd been finished off. Forcing his hands to unclench, he tried to wipe them down the slick sides of his flightsuit, only just now remembering that he hadn't had a chance to change yet. He wondered if he had time before Cottle reported with his findings. A scrutinizing glance at the tense figures around Lee decided him not to leave now, not trusting what they might discuss behind his back.

A silence filled the cabin as the group waited, each seemingly lost in their own brooding thoughts. How much time passed before a knock on the hatch jerked his head up, Lee couldn't guess, but he straightened as the white-coated figure of the physician entered.

Waiting only until the hatch had closed behind him, Cottle briskly said, "It's Thrace."

"You can be certain?" from Roslin, her tone level but insistent.

Cottle moved his free hand towards his pocket before aborting the motion and Lee vaguely wondered if the man had finally exhausted his stash of cigarettes. He studied the age-etched face as the doctor lifted a set of flimsies instead and faced the President with a jaundiced expression and huffed out a sigh.

"Her x-rays."

"Surely those aren't conclusive?" challenged Roslin and Lee wanted to demand that she stop being so obstinate in her suspicions but held his words in check as Cottle continued.

"I've seen what the Cylons can do and I'm telling you that there's just no way they could've copied that young woman's every fracture. Not to this level of perfection." He gave the films a rattle for emphasis. "They're an exact match. Now, I might just be an old Colonial surgeon, but I can tell if a break's recent or not. And I'm telling you that most of these are at least a decade old. So, if you're still thinking that Thrace might be a Cylon, she would've had to have been born one," he said with a confidence that defied them to contradict his assessment.

Looking from Roslin to his father, Lee saw the palpable tension ease from both of their faces, and felt his own drop a notch at their acceptance of the doctor's findings.

"How is she?" His father repeated his same question from earlier, now directed at the physician.

"Exhausted, but mostly intact. Blood's from the cut above her eye and some scraped knuckles—I'd say most of it's not even hers. Probably from whatever skinjob she walloped the hell out of," Cottle informed them, then bluntly added, "No signs of new abuse," in response to their unspoken fear.

"And her mental state?" asked Roslin.

"I imagine as demented as ever. You weren't expecting the Cylons to have some sort of 'let's-all-hug-it-out' thing with her, were you?" Cottle's surly reply couldn't completely hide the underlying concern in his voice.

"Doctor," the warning in her tone drew another exasperated huff from the older man. Again he made as if to fish something from his pocket before dropping his hand to his side and giving her a sour look.

"Look. She's royally pissed at me and I couldn't get more than monosyllables from her. Satisfied?" he gruffly replied.

As the woman leaned back, obviously caught off guard by the doctor's belligerent manner, Lee was reminded that the President hadn't been included in the Admiral's decision to risk Galactica's pilots. She didn't know how put out Cottle had been about his part in the deception. The Admiral had purposefully kept Roslin in the dark, stating that it was an internal military matter. In fact, he had even said that he'd only brought Lee into the loop because he'd needed the CAG's opinion on whether to inform their people of the likely effects of so much radiation. Lee had secretly thought it was because his dad couldn't stomach _not_ telling him that his orders were going to subject him to a damaging level of exposure.

He recalled the heated argument that had followed when his father had decided against taking his recommendation to lay out the facts for the pilots. Lee had believed the Admiral's threat of a court martial if he chose to tell the others, and his lips thinned as he remembered having to lie to Kara even as he sought to protect her. After their third jump it had been a relief to have a legitimate excuse to ground her—though that hadn't lasted once Showboat went down. He had so wanted to tell her the truth, the need making him abrupt in his last encounter with her.

The President's voice drew him from the galling memory.

"Now why would Kara be upset at you, Doctor?"

Too late, Cottle realized his mistake and gave a harassed glare at his commanding officer.

On a sigh, "That's my fault," Adama confessed and met Laura's confused gaze before firming his expression and continuing, "He had orders to keep certain information from Captain Thrace that I'm assuming she now knows?" His enquiring look received a nod from Cottle.

As the silence stretched, Laura finally said, "Am I going to have to guess?" her tone already acerbic and promising more displeasure if someone didn't fill her in—promptly.

Adama jerked his chin towards the elderly physician in an unvoiced order to answer her before he then moved to the bar and filled a glass of his own. As Lee put some distance between himself and the Admiral, he saw his dad's eyes note his action and saw his grim understanding that Lee was making it clear whose responsibility it was for the forthcoming revelation.

"Galactica's Raptor pilots received a more harmful dose of radiation than they were told to expect," Cottle flatly stated. As Roslin still looked uncertain, he reluctantly explained further, "Mr. Gaeta and I had calculated the amount of exposure they were likely to get each time through the storm. Based on those figures, the maximum number of safe jumps per person to avoid permanent damage should have been limited to four."

Now Lee saw understanding set into the woman's features and she paled. Wetting her lips, "It took five trips," she said, her tone ordering that he continue.

"With the number of civilian vessels to guide, five was the minimum we could manage with available personnel," Cottle confirmed.

Roslin studied the physician then her rebuking gaze shifted to the Admiral where he stood with his back to her pouring himself a second drink.

"And the physical consequence of this…exposure?" she asked of the doctor without taking her eyes from the dress blues-clad form. In her dark eyes, Lee saw her demand for the Admiral to turn and face her. His father either hadn't gotten the unspoken message or chose to ignore it, instead, holding his place with one hand splayed on the bar's smooth surface and the other cradling the already half-drained tumbler.

"Sterility."

Cottle's curt answer, spoken with the sullenness of someone having to unwillingly impart bad news jerked Laura's head around. Her eyes widened as she processed his meaning.

Lee knew the moment when all the ramifications finally registered, for her bleak expression was now focused on him. He met her look with a steady one of his own. She might be concerned about his health, but he had accepted the necessity even before the first jump. What stuck in his throat was the Admiral's decision to withhold that same knowledge from the rest of the crew. Lee was pretty damned sure that was what had Kara so angry, too. Not that she had been ordered to put herself at risk—they did that daily—but that those she trusted had hid the facts from her. And he guessed that learning the truth from the Cylons had only intensified her sense of betrayal.

"All of them?"

Roslin's softly spoken question drew a sharp nod from Lee. But then rethinking his answer, "Showboat—Captain Case—only completed four. There was a malfunction with her Raptor."

"Wait. Starbuck only went out four times," Tigh spoke up for the first time since his earlier outburst.

As this pulled Adama around, Lee shook his head, reminding his dad that Kara might not have made five jumps, but that didn't mean she hadn't received a dose high enough to cause damage.

"Kat," he said outloud by way of explanation and saw understanding cross Saul and his father's faces as they recalled the younger pilot overstaying in the storm and maxing out her badge before the fifth jump. It was a pretty certain thing that Kara had also taken an excessive amount. In fact, Lee abruptly realized that he had no idea exactly how much radiation she had been exposed to.

His widening eyes shot to the doctor.

"Do we even know how much?" he demanded and knew Cottle understood his concern.

"Thrace said her badge was black, not red. Got that much out of her," Cottle said and some of the tightness in Lee's chest eased. Black was bad enough, but they all knew there wouldn't have been any coming back if it had begun to turn red, something that Kara's presence should have answered for them if they had really thought it through.

"I'm afraid, gentlemen, that you've lost me." Roslin's words drew four sets of eyes her way as she continued. "I thought the purpose of the badges was to warn when the safe limit had been reached?"

"I set the badge perimeters," Cottle explained.

"And those perimeters were?"

"Less than a fatal dose," his clipped reply was further marked by the scowl he cast her way indicating that he shouldn't have to explain the difference between safe and survivable.

Lee watched Roslin process the answers and saw her almost imperceptible nod.

"I agree that it was imperative to get the civilians through the storm…and that that might come at the expense of Fleet personnel, but surely Kara understands this too?" Her tone perplexed as she looked from man to man before coming back to Lee and asking, "Major?"

Lee crossed his arms, side-eying his father. _Go ahead, it was your order. You explain it! _His silence communicated his thoughts as clearly as a shout to his father who wearily placed his almost empty tumbler behind him before straightening his glasses.

"They weren't told," he said.

"Weren't told?" Now Laura rose to her feet as her gaze swiveled to Adama's.

"We—_I_—gave the order to keep the consequences from the pilots," he reluctantly admitted. Then added in a gruffer tone, "It wasn't necessary for them to know."

"Necessary!" Lee couldn't stop his derisive bark as their prior argument and Kara's anger fed his own.

"This is the military," the Admiral snapped back, "They didn't need to know."

Lee opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by Roslin as she spoke. "Perhaps," her icicle-spiked tone struck out, "but they _deserved_ to know," she stated.

"It was a military decision," his sullen reply a reminder for her of how things had gone last time she had interfered in another 'military decision' and obviously he'd meant it to end the discussion.

Lee's gaze moved between the pair and as he watched the way the President purposefully crossed her arms and leveled a look on the Admiral that could've bent steel, he realized that Roslin was more than a match for his father.

The cabin was held in a silence strung taut by the way their eyes clashed as Lee waited to see who broke first. He wasn't particularly surprised when it was blue eyes that looked away and felt a certain smug satisfaction that his father had been the one to back down.

Roslin didn't shift her attention from Adama as she asked, "I'm assuming that the Cylons informed Kara and that she's made her displeasure known?"

Cottle grunted. "You could say that," he dryly replied.

Finally turning her head to regard the doctor, "I have some other concerns about her stability," Roslin said. Lee's brows rose slightly as he eyed the woman as she continued." It strikes me as particularly improbably that the Cylons have captured Kara Thrace on three separate occasions and yet she has somehow managed to survive each encounter."

_What the hell? _

Cottle responded before Lee could form a confused protest.

"She has had the gods' own luck that way, I'll give you that," the elderly physician said.

"Unless it's been the Cylons' plan all along."

_She was joking, right? Where the frak did this come from?_

Lee found himself speechless, unable to formulate a coherent response when he couldn't wrap his mind around what Roslin was implying even as she went on.

"We can't overlook the possibility that they've been attempting to condition her during each of these periods."

_That_ was enough to break the four of them from their collectively stunned paralysis.

"You can't really believe—"

"No frakkin' way."

"That's not possible."

"Unlikely. Not with Thrace—"

"_Gentlemen!"_ Roslin held her hands up to halt the barrage, then swept them with a discerning look. "I'm concerned about Kara, too." Waving them to silence as they were about to protest, "I am. But we have to consider all possibilities. I worked with her after New Caprica, so I've a better sense of how thoroughly the Cylons were able to twist her thinking then." Slowly releasing a deep breath, she added, "Given that they've had her for weeks now, I'm _only_ saying that we need to carefully evaluate any information she gives us."

Lee gritted his teeth to keep hot words from spilling forth. Did the woman really think that Kara had been compromised? Kara?Seriously, it had to be the chamella making her paranoid or something, he decided. Whatever Kara had been through, whatever the frakkers had done to her this time, there was no way that he was going to believe for one minute that they had somehow brainwashed her. His expression turned mulish as he glared across the room at the President.

Cottle broke the tense standoff.

"Anything more you need?" he asked, addressing the Admiral.

"Where's she now?"

"Cleaning up. Told her to shower and then report here," Cottle answered, hand fidgeting up again, only this time he stuffed it into the pocket of his overcoat and kept it there. "Figured that give me time to fill you in before debriefing her yourself," he finished.

Adama nodded a dismissal at the doctor's question and the man left the room with more than his customary speed. Watching the hatch close behind him, Lee frowned, still reeling from the swift currents of the discussion and uncertain how to protect Kara from the President's suspicion and his father's poor judgment.

Before he had time to formulate a response a knock heralded another arrival and his eyes swept the form that stepped across the threshold.

She looked better.

She wore a clean set of BDUs. Wet hair, combed straight, came to just above her shoulders. The cut at her brow had obviously been treated, but Lee thought that it might scar, and while her eyes looked brighter—and steadier—he couldn't help but notice how dark the shadows were beneath them.

She looked better, but far from well.

It took all of Lee's resolve to keep from charging across the room to sweep her into another fervent hug. Only the thought that this time she'd probably greet him with a right hook kept him still. Instead, his hungry gaze followed her as she strode up to the Admiral and gave him a too-sharp salute.

Oh yeah, she might appear calmer, but Lee recognized the way she held herself. This was more like the center of a hurricane and he knew that they were probably about to face the gale winds of Starbuck's temper.

Not sparing a glance at the others in the room, _"Sir,"_ she said, tone honed to a fine edge.

Yup, pissed and just waiting for the Admiral to offer her an excuse to explode.

When Adama abruptly stepped forward and enveloped her in a bear hug, Lee's brows rose, wondering just how Kara would react to the very non-regulation greeting. He could see her upper face over his father's shoulder and saw green eyes widen first then blink several times. Initially her free arm stayed stiffly at her side but then crept around the figure holding her as her other hand dropped to the blue-clad shoulder. She returned the clasp for a moment before moving to break the embrace. Adama let her, shifting back to put a half-pace of space between them.

"You've got to stop chasing cats," his father's voice rasped with too many emotions dredging its depth.

"Yeah, well…you know me," she gave a shrug as if unsure suddenly how to proceed, obviously not having been prepared for the Old Man's blatant show of affection.

"I do," gripping her arms at the elbows, "and I should've known to tell you the truth," he admitted, adding, "All of you," in a clear indication that he'd accepted that he'd made a mistake.

"Frakkin' right," she bit out, then shrugged again. Lee could tell that the Old Man's actions had effectively taken the wind out of Kara's anger, leaving her at a loss how to handle their reunion.

"Captain Thrace—Kara." She turned her head as Laura called her. "It's good to have you back. We need to know what happened."

Lee saw Kara take stock of the room's other occupants, her eyes barely meeting his before flitting on and he tensed further. What? She was going to forgive his dad just like that, but not him?

"Yes, Madam President," her gaze moving back to Roslin's. "There's a lot to tell, but…" she trailed off as green eyes again canvassed the cabin. Then she brought her shoulders back as if preparing to take a weight and said, "But only you and the Admiral."

Lee blinked.

He must have heard wrong. Yet he saw the same perplexed expression from the others and took a step forward as he said, "Kara," protesting the implication that she didn't trust him.

"Just you two," she repeated, gaze shifting between the leaders.

"What's this?" Tigh demanded. "What game you playing, Thrace?"

She ignored him too, focused on the Admiral as he scrutinized her face for some explanation. Roslin's eyes had narrowed slightly and Lee saw the renewed suspicion in their depths.

"The Colonel has a valid question, Captain," Roslin said. Then tilted her head and asked, "Why the sudden need for secrecy? And from these two no less," sweeping a hand to indicate Lee and the XO.

Lee's confusion grew as Kara answered, "What I know's for your ears only," and gave the Admiral an determined look as she added, "What you tell others, well, that's your call, Sir."

"You'll godsdamn tell what you know!" Tigh all but roared, hand slapping down on the table he at his side. Then, as all eyes turned to him, he demanded of her, "How the hell you end up on a Heavy with my wife!" face flushed with thinly restrained turmoil.

But Kara's attention was only for the Admiral, and Lee could see a need she so rarely let show transform her features into a pleading look matched by her tone as she implored, "Sir…_please._"

He saw his father's resistance crumble beneath the coercion of her plea.

"Clear the room." His rumbled order brought an immediate response.

"Do you think that's wis—"

"Kara, I don't know—"

"No! NO! I have to—"

Their protests were abruptly silenced by Adama's loud, _"Now!"_ but it still took another moment before Lee could pull his confused thoughts together enough to compel his body to turn and leave. At his side, the XO looked even more overwhelmed and rebellious, and Lee decided he'd better keep an eye on the man even though he didn't have any authority to override him if the Colonel went ballistic on the first unsuspecting crewman they encountered.

Lee heard the hatch close behind him and trailed Tigh as the Colonel took the corridor with the most direct route towards the brig.

[ ]

As Kara entered the Admiral's quarters and gave her commanding officer a parade-ground perfect salute, her stomach twisted on a spasm of betrayal. He'd lied to her—again. There had even been time before the last jump when they'd stood alone together in the wardroom when he could have explained to her. He hadn't. And as that moment replayed through her mind, Kara finally understood the emotions she'd sensed in him. But the memory of his concern and guilt was overridden by his decision to leave her in the dark. It was her body, her life, and the Admiral had broken an unspoken rule by not telling her—telling all of them—of the effects they'd face from the radiation. Why hadn't he trusted his people with the truth? Where had _she_ failed him? Had he actually thought she might refuse if she'd known the consequences of their repeated trips through the storm?

Her _"Sir," _as pointedly sharp as the salute, as she dared the Admiral to make excuses for his deceit. But she was caught off guard as Old Man pulled her into an encompassing embrace. Of its own accord, her arm lifted and wrapped around him, gripping him as tightly and she rested her chin against the rough material of his uniform jacket. Her eyes stung as she gulped a breath and finally shifting away, finding that her razor-edged anger had inexplicably dulled. She wasn't aware of how alike it felt to the few times her mother had hugged her tight with assurances of love and explanations that her actions were for Kara's own good. All Kara knew was that in that instant how much she had needed this proof that the he still cared.

As he made an unsteady jest about chasing cats, she wavered, wanting to still be pissed but found herself mumbling something vague in response. So when he apologized, she replied, "Frakkin' right," but couldn't dredge up the heat of her prior outrage.

Shifting her feet, uncomfortable with the way her carefully planned confrontation had been muddled, Kara sought to pull her scattered thoughts back into focus. She thankfully turned to Laura as the woman spoke, reminding Kara that she had more important things to deal with than hurt feelings; the foremost being the identity of the three remaining Cylons. Leoben's insistence that they weren't infiltrators—an assertion backed by Sam—hadn't reassured her one cubit and she was anxious to warn Adama and Roslin of the traitors in their midst. But that was going to be dicey with Tigh regarding her like it was _she_ that had grown a metal head.

Kara was careful to mask her scrutiny of the XO by making a show of sweeping the entire room's complement, noting Lee's stiffening at her curt glance. Whatever. Let him believe that she was still holding his part in the Admiral's deception against him. It was more important not to tip Tigh off to her knowledge of his true nature than to smooth Apollo's ruffled ego.

Besides, Kara realized that she _was_ still upset at him.

Her gaze back on the older woman now, Kara answered that she did have a lot to tell, but only to the two leaders. She ignored Lee's protest and kept her eyes forward as she restated that she'd only divulge her story to the two of them.

At the XO's reprimand, she met the Old Man's inquiring look, not turning away even as she restated that what she had to say was for them only. Tigh's outburst behind her didn't even illicit a flinch. Instead, her entire focus was on the man that had taken her into his cabin, had given her reason to believe that she wasn't the malignancy he'd once called her.

_Come on! Trust me in this. Please!_

"Clear the room," he finally said and she shut her eyes in relief only to snap them open at the protests his order provoked. His unwavering _"Now!"_ salved a fear she hadn't realized existed, only now acknowledging that she'd secretly feared that he'd deny her request.

As she heard the hatch close behind her, Kara released the breath she'd held while listening to Lee and Tigh stamp out. She quickly suppressed a shard of guilt at having to cut Lee out to cover for excluding the XO.

Now that she faced only the President and the Admiral she abruptly found herself tongued-tied, unsure where to begin. The older woman's closed expression didn't help. Kara hadn't been prepared for the undercurrent of suspicion she'd heard in Laura's voice and was at a loss to explain it. Surely Cottle had told them that she wasn't a Cylon? It had seemed that the Doc had taken enough blood and x-rays to start a private collection. But then again, she'd still been furious at the physician and had ignored all but his most basic questions. At the time she had figured the drawn out tests was his way of punishing her for her intransigence, but now she had to wonder.

_Had the Doc seriously thought I was a skinjob?_

Well, she didn't frakking care about Cottle's opinion. Not anymore. She'd been a fool to actually believe in his blunt honesty. The reminder of why she shouldn't trust doctors had been proven once again and she hadn't been in the mood to pretend otherwise. It never even occurred to her to question why she was so quick to forgive the one that had given the command but held close her fury at the surgeon for just following orders. Instead, her thoughts narrowed on Laura's distrust.

Deciding that the best way to answer the other woman's concerns was to lay it all, Kara said, "I know who the final five Cylons are," then faltered as she realized that she hadn't even asked about Sam. For all she knew, the President might already have airlocked the Heavy Raider's other occupants. Giving a small shake of her head, Kara rejected that possibility. Roslin might be adamant in her feelings towards the humanoid models, but she'd never act that precipitously. Not without gathering all the intel she could get first. Beside, the Colonel would've had a conniption fit if she had tried to show Ellen a quick exit.

Still, the moment of doubt, and fear for Sam, had unsettled her and Kara didn't immediately continue, her gaze instead flitting between the pair, hoping to get a read on their reactions.

Laura's hands rose to her hips as she spoke first. "Samuel Anders and Ellen Tigh are two of those." Though it wasn't phrased as a question, Kara nodded anyways then licked her lips, trying to moisten a suddenly dry mouth.

"And?" the President prompted.

_Here goes nothing. _

"Galen Tyrol, Tory Foster and…and Saul Tigh," she forced out, eyes on the Admiral now, waiting for his response.

Both figures twitched as if she'd spat at them. Seeing the immediate disbelief in his expression, Kara hurried to explain.

"You can ask Sam and Ellen. They'll confirm it." Then she harshly added, "Hell, even check with that bitch, D'Anna." At their condemning silence, "Look, I know this is frakked. I mean, it's the Colonel. And the Chief. I don't know how..." she trailed off with a huff, then tried again, her voice taking on the undertones of pleading again, "You need to question them." As the suit-clad figure took a step back, Kara turned on Laura. "What do you really know about Foster, huh?" she demanded, voice rising as she felt the waves of suspicion roll off from this woman whom she'd trusted with secrets she'd never shared before. As the brown eyes narrowed further, Kara gritted her teeth, purposefully shifting to seek out blue eyes instead.

_Oh, frak._

If anything, Adama's countenance was worse. Kara had seen that look of betrayed rage only once before. His order to walk out of this very room while she still could had nearly broken her then; but, this time she was in the right and there was no way she could retract what she'd said…even if she'd wanted to. They had to be warned of the danger. Godsdamnit, they had to believe!

Clenching her hands to hide their trembling, she pressed on against Adama's stony look, "Leoben claims they don't know. Don't know what they are. He said they're not like Boomer. Not sleeper agents—"

"Leoben said?" Roslin interrupted.

Without turning from the Admiral, she nodded then continued. "Sam and Ellen backed his story. They say that after the First Cylon War when the twelve models were created there was some kind of power struggle among them. Cavil," a quick glance at Roslin confirmed she knew of the model, "and the rest of the Ones seized control of the Centurions. They somehow blocked the memories of the other models and wiped those of the five before exiling them to the Colonies." She derisively snorted, finding the machinations of the Ones daft, thinking that if it had been her, she'd have just offed the five rather than going through all that hassle and risking their possible return.

"Captain, what makes you think that you've not just been fed disinformation meant to disrupt the Fleet?"

Kara was thankful for the question, it gave her an excuse to look at the President and not to have to try to hold herself steady beneath the Admiral's crushing glare.

"While I was held, the models broke into two factions," she said. "They're at war, Madam President. This time with each other. I saw the proof. The bodies and wreckage." She shook her head. "I'm telling you that it wasn't faked. I know what I saw," she said forcefully.

"Your wrong," the first words Adama says since her declaration and Kara reluctantly looked back at him while shaking her head.

"I'm not. Couldn't believe it myself at first." Her brows rose as she floundered for a way to explain how denial had given way to a gut-deep certainty.

"I've known Saul Tigh for thirty years now. Watched him age. He's as human as you." He took a step closer and it was all Kara could do not to give ground at the aura of threat emanating from him now as he said, "You're lying."

His accusation struck her still exposed nerve of betrayal and she scornfully shot back, "No. That's what you do."

The blow across her jaw came so fast Kara never saw his hand rise. Her head jolted to the side and she stumbled from the force of the slap, a familiar coppery taste confirming that she'd bit the inside of her lip at the impact.

"_Bill!"_

She wasn't sure if Laura's authorative shout was all that kept Adama from following up on his initial swing, but his rage that had flared at Kara's taunting words had been sufficiently doused that as she forced her fists to stay at her side, deciding that he wasn't going to strike again—at least not with his hands.

"Kara?"

There was concern in the other woman's voice now, and if the need to convince these two weren't so acute, Kara would have scoffed at her sudden display of solicitude. What had gotten Laura's skirts in a bunch? Every since she'd stepped into the room, Roslin's entire demeanor has been accusatory, like she expected nothing but deceit from Kara. What was her deal and when had the older woman decided that she was the frakking enemy? Laura's distrust had felt like a slow broil compared to Adama's burning cuff.

_Well, frak 'em. I don't need this shit!_

Facing both now, Kara tongued her torn lip before pasting on a sneer, feeling the pull along her sensitized cheek.

"The truth stings, don't it," she said, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth as she eyed him. "Right. Guess we know how things stand. Should've expected as much," she said bitterly. "Believe what you want, I'm outta here." She spun on her heels and was almost to the hatch when the Admiral's voice boomed out.

"You're not dismissed, Captain!"

She halted, but didn't turn, too disillusioned and angry to trust herself not to make matters worse.

_Godsdamnit, it wasn't suppose to go this way!_

And to think that after the Old Man's initial greeting she had actually thought he'd hear her out. Ha! Stupid idea and she was screwed again. Not that this wasn't about the retribution she deserved for coming back empty handed. No Earth. No one to verify her story but a few skinjobs.

"Bill, we need to all take a breath." She heard from behind her. In the beat of silence that followed, just wanting to be away from the pair, Kara reached for the door.

"I said you're not dismissed," Adama repeated, tone more firm than sullen this time. And again she paused, her knuckles whitening as her grip on the handle tightened, but she didn't pull the hatch open.

"You can't leave," Laura said neutrally.

Releasing her hold, Kara twisted in place, eyes slashing from one to the other.

"Why? Not like you're gonna believe me." Giving a derisive sniff, "Made that pretty clear."

"Come sit down, Kara." The woman waved towards the couch and Kara had a flash of Laura saying the same thing to her not that many weeks ago. Her eyes narrowed on the indicated piece of furniture and her chest tightened. She automatically shook her head.

"Please. We need to understand how you can be so certain," Laura coaxed now.

Instead of moving to the sofa, she crossed her arms, holding them to her body against the vulnerability she felt before these two that she had stupidly allowed inside her defenses. She side-eyed the Admiral where he stood regarding her from beneath hooded eyes.

She finally said, "They want an alliance," tone surly in anticipation of their response.

"The Cylons?"

"One faction of them. Mostly the Twos, Threes, Sixes and Eights," she reluctantly answered, eyes on the cross-thatch of the deck plating as she continued. "I guess there was a…a disagreement over pursuing us. And the other group also wanted to do something to the Raiders and Centurions." She paused, realizing that she should have questioned Leoben further about the reasons for the riff between the models, but at the time she hadn't exactly been in a chatty mood, the shock of discovering Sam's nature and her focus on retrieving the coordinates to Earth taking precedence over the Cylons' internal dispute.

Frowning, she tried to recall something Natalie had told her…or maybe she'd overheard it? Pinching the bridge of her nose, she tried to force the memory forward, yet found that a creepy fatigue made grasping the elusive thought increasingly difficult. Huffing out a breath in frustration, she pushed it aside for later and looked up to see how the Admiral was taking what she'd disclosed. But, he wasn't even looking at her now, eyes focused on the self-same couch Laura had tried to impel her to moments ago.

_What's their frakking obsession with it anyways!_

Feeling exhaustion weighting her limbs, Kara found herself suddenly regarding it with a longing to stretch out and just forget about the Cylons and every frakking thing else for maybe about a week…or two. Grimly knowing that wasn't likely to happen, she instead braced herself and confessed her true failure.

"I lost Earth."


	125. Chapter 125 Reverie

Chapter 124 Reverie

Staring at the familiar pattern of squares along the ceiling of the brig, Kara gave a frustrated sigh. She should be sleeping, tired didn't even come close, and yet it seemed impossible to shut down her chaotic thoughts. Rubbing at her gritty eyes, she recalled the Doc's admonishment to consume fluids and figured that she could blame some of her crappy feeling on dehydration.

Letting her hand fall back to her side, Kara glanced over at the duty guard and frowned. She knew the man, but only by sight. From this distance, she couldn't make out his name badge, but he reminded her of someone. Pushing aside the irritation at her inability to place the face, she looked to the clock above his head, confirming that it had been over two hours now since she'd been escorted by Mathias to her present cell, and just under one since the kid had replaced the Sergeant as her keeper. Three hours spent rehashing not just the confrontation in the Admiral's quarters, but everything that had happened since making the jump to the Ionian Nebula.

Swinging her legs around, she sat on the edge of the cot and rested her head in her hands. _What the frak's wrong with me, _she angrily wondered, for it wasn't the argument with the Old Man or Roslin's suspicion that kept turning her stomach. Hell, it wasn't even seeing Lee again. Instead, every time she closed her eyes she saw Leoben's head jerk back as Sam's bullet torn through the Cylon. And it wasn't even as if she hadn't seen the bastard die before. The many times she'd killed him on New Caprica had never left her feeling like this.

Leveraging herself to her sock-clad feet, ignoring the inquiring look the young Marine gave her, Kara moved to the farthest corner of the cell. The bulkhead felt cool against the heat of her bruised cheek and she enjoyed the relief for a moment before her mind insisted on replaying the Old Man's initial warmth then his implacable denial. She didn't really blame him for striking her, after all she'd not only gone AWOL for a second time, but come back with such an implausible story that there was no reason he _should_ believe her.

She slid a hand up the nearest bar, gripping it tight as she recalled trying to explain to the pair about the mandala she'd seen and how she'd just _known_ that this was the moment she'd been building to her entire life. The expression on the Admiral's face before he'd looked away had said it all. He thought she was crazy. All her talk of finger-painted circles as a child, sketches later in notebooks, splashes of color on apartment walls, none of it lent any credence in his mind to the idea that she _had _to leave her escort duty to harp off who knows where. He probably thought she'd hallucinated the entire thing—blaming it on the effects of the radiation and stims if he was feeling charitable or more likely, just figuring that she'd cracked again and was delusional. In either case, he obviously hadn't put any stock in her revelation that she'd actually found Earth.

_I probably wouldn't believe me either with a frakked-up story like that. _

As Kara shifted her weight off her weaker knee, she frowned, perplexed about how to read Laura's response to her tale. The older woman's initial hostility had seemed to completely disappear after the slap. But she didn't trust the concern she'd seen that had replaced it. There was something going on with Roslin and the woman's belated attempts to hide her skepticism hadn't fooled Kara.

The final blow had come when Kara had told them that she needed a Raptor. She was sure that she could find the mandala again if the Admiral would just give her a bird and enough time to return to the radiation storm.

They had both simultaneously answered 'No' in tones that told her that they wouldn't be swayed. Not that she hadn't tried, reminding them that the prize was Earth, that it wasn't like she was risking anyone but herself. The vehemence of their refusal she put down to their belief that she was a lunatic and it was safer to lock her up than just give her a ship and let her loose. Her reading of their reasons seemed confirmed when the Admiral had stepped to the hatch and directed the Sergeant to escort Kara to the brig. By that point she had been too exhausted to even feel bitter about the order and had followed Mathias without a backwards glance at the pair.

By all rights she should have collapsed and been enjoying the sleep of the dead on the brig's too familiar cot, yet here she stood in the cell's corner, thoughts staggering off along tangents of what-ifs or flashing images of blood and grey matter against a metal background. The temptation to slam her forehead against the unyielding surface of the wall in the hopes of finding some form of oblivion was interrupted by the sound of the brig's exterior hatch swinging open.

She didn't bother turning even when she recognized that it was Lee's voice as he ordered the guard to give him the keys and wait on the other side of the hatch. He even went so far as to suggest the fellow take his book and chair, indicating that his presence wasn't going to be needed for quite awhile.

Her shoulders drooped further at the thought of having to relate her story all over again. Abruptly overwhelmed, her eyes stung and she clenched them closed against the traitorous moisture. She couldn't do this thing with Lee. Not now. Please, just not now.

"Kara?" His voice was low, tentative and much closer; she hadn't heard him unlock the cell door and enter.

As he repeated her name from just behind now, she shook her head, refusing to turn to face him when only the grip on the bar and the stability of the wall were keeping her upright. At the sound of his light tread moving away, the feeling that she'd fly apart if he touched her eased just the slightest and she was able to loosen her throat enough to force out a question.

"What do you want, Lee?"

There was a moment of silence and she could feel his gaze on her back before he finally answered.

"Just wanted to make sure you're ok."

She huffed out a breath then choked on the urge to laugh. Ok? No, she wasn't frakking ok. Hadn't been in she didn't know how long. Maybe never had.

Behind her, she heard the slight squeak of springs as a weight settled on the cot. It finally prompted her to turn to find Lee sitting at the end of the bed. His expression was heavy with concern and she had to look away when too many emotions threatened to buckle her already shaky balance.

"Come sit before you fall down," he quietly said, and Kara reluctantly returned her gaze to his.

"Gods, Lee. I don't need you to tell me what to do. I'm not a child," her muttered words sounding petulant even to her own ears.

"Then stop acting like one, Kara," he replied, but the smile he gave her countered any sting. Then, "Come on. I promise not to bite. Not even a nibble," he coaxed, patting the spot beside him.

Resignedly she crossed the short space and would have liked to flounce down in a display of pique but the effort was beyond her. Instead, her knees folded and she sank onto the mattress at an equal space between the head of the bunk and where he sat, hoping he'd take the hint that she wasn't trying to distance herself from him but also wasn't ready to deal with him yet. Leaning back against the wall for support, she kept her gaze rigidly forward and waited.

"You haven't slept," a statement more than a question, but she moved her head sideways in jerky confirmation. "Stretch out, then," he said, and this time her gaze shifted to him in confusion as he scooted further towards the end. "I mean it. You don't have to tell me anything. We don't have to talk at all."

Her eyes widened slightly in disbelief. Was Lee really not here to demand explanations from her? Berate her for dereliction of duty or something? If not that, then why had he bothered coming? Imperceptibly giving another shake of her head, she set the question of his presence aside for another time when trying to think wasn't like wading through sludge. As she wet her lips, the idea of being horizontal became irresistibly appealing and she slid down to the side until her head rested on the thin pillow, but her legs still dangled at an uncomfortable angle over the edge of the bunk. Then hands were on her ankles and she felt them lifted and settled across Lee's lap.

"You just gonna sit there?" she mumbled, then twitched as his hands began to slowly massage along the instep of her feet, gently kneading them through the thin material of the fleet-issued socks.

He gave her an amiable, "Yup," and continued his ministrations. As his fingers carefully worked each of her toes, Kara gave up and finally let herself relax fully into the comfort of his touch

…and her eyelids drooped shut on a sigh of pleasure.

[ ]

Lee was careful to keep the pressure light as he felt Kara's tension ease and her breathing quiet into the slow rhythm of sleep. It felt good to just be able to sit here with her, be allowed the opportunity to touch her again. But between one breath and the next, the suppressed sense of loss abruptly resurfaced and caught him by surprise. Kara was alive. She was here and alive and breathing and cussing and kicking everything over just like usual. So why the hell did he feel like he'd just been eviscerated by the same grief that had unstrung him not that many weeks ago?

Working to loosen the clenched muscles of his jaw, Lee was hyper-cautious not to let his hands betray the sudden turmoil that had gripped the rest of his body. This was idiotic. Here he was with Kara returned in all of her undaunted glory and yet he felt like he was on the verge of a grief-induced panic attack. Forcing his focus to narrow on slowing his breathing and on the steady motion of his hands upon her feet he was able to unravel the knots of fear and anguish that had seized him. As the last strands finally released, fatigue settled in their stead and he tried to recall when he'd last slept. The past days of Baltar's trial had kept him tensed with torn loyalties that wouldn't let up in the few moments he'd allowed himself to rest.

Sighing silently, his thoughts trailed over the events since the not-guilty verdict had been read. Like everyone else, he'd been caught off guard by the power outage that had swept over Galactica. He'd made his way towards the hanger bay, needing to be where he might be of use, so he'd been present and suited up when the ship's power had been as mysteriously restored.

If anyone had thought to ask why he'd felt such a gut-sure need to retrieve the Heavy Raider instead of just destroying it, he never would have been able to give a sufficient reason. He'd just known it was important. Never had he suspected how its occupants would change everything. At his first sight of Kara, he'd been momentarily frozen as he'd taken in her presence standing beside her latest souvenir and glaring up at his father. He couldn't remember crossing the deck then, only the feel of her in his arms and her rapid breath on his neck as she'd returned his hug.

His euphoria had been quickly dampened by the following confrontations in sickbay and then later in the Admiral's quarters. And then there was what little he had learned after leaving the cabin and following the XO to the Cylon holding cell.

The guard on duty had held to his orders from the Admiral that no one, regardless of rank, was allowed to enter the cell. Lee had thought he was going to have to physically restrain the XO when Tigh had gotten nose-to-nose with the hapless Corporal and demanded the keys. He had to give the Marine credit though, he'd refused to flinch from the older officer though he had thrown a silent plea Lee's way as the Colonel's harangue devolved into threats against the soldier's ancestors and potential descendents.

Lee had lifted the cell's handset and waved for Ellen to pick up the matching one before drawing the XO's attention and waving the receiver as an invitation. Saul had accepted it with bad grace but had quickly settled as Ellen spoke to him. Without going into the observation booth, Lee could only hear Tigh's side of the conversation but it hadn't been difficult to tell that the woman was explaining how she'd come to be a Cylon. The Colonel's side-glances at him had also spoken volumes of how he'd rather be having the conversation in private, but Lee had known that that wasn't going to be possible any time soon. Not after the level of suspicion the Admiral and President had shown with _Kara_. They weren't about to release a known skinjob until they were sure she didn't pose a threat—regardless of whose wife she was. He supposed that maybe some arrangement could be made for Ellen to join Tigh in his quarters under close guard, but that was undoubtedly after she'd been thoroughly debriefed.

Listening then to the Colonel's questions, a few of them struck Lee as odd, though he guessed that maybe it wasn't so strange to be asking about how it felt to discover that her past was a lie and if she thought that she'd been programmed like Boomer. One thing that had caught his undivided attention was when Saul had asked Ellen if she knew who the remaining three Cylons were. She had tensed and glanced at Lee and the Marine just behind him before slowly shaking her head and returning a challenging look at her husband. The Colonel had held himself still and hadn't pressed further on the subject.

Well, that wouldn't do.

Lee was positive that he'd seen fear flicker through the woman's eyes before she'd hidden it and in his gut was also positive that she had just lied. After the day's events, he was even more inclined to trust in that instinct. He knew then that he was going to have to suggest to his father that a more aggressive interrogation be conducted by an unbiased party. But that could wait until after Kara revealed whatever secrets she'd felt too important to divulge to anyone but the President and Admiral.

Now, leaning back against the brig's cold bulkhead with Kara asleep beside him, Lee wished that he had donned his suit jacket when he'd change from the flightsuit into the dress shirt and slacks he'd worn for the trial. That was another thing that had underscored the exhaustion he'd read in Kara's eyes and body: she hadn't asked about his civilian garb. He was pretty certain she hadn't even noticed.

He wasn't sure how long ago she'd been escorted to the brig, but by all rights she should have been sleeping by the time he'd made his way here. His brows drew together in worry as he stared down at her, noting how the pinched lines of her face had finally smoothed as she slept. His mouth went dry at the thought of what experiences had put those lines there. Admitting it to himself, Lee wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know. He was still trying to come to terms with all she'd been through before. Shame quickly followed that thought as he berated himself for being weak. Kara had suffered whatever those bastards had done to her and had to live with it. _He_ only had to deal with the knowledge after the fact.

_A frakking coward. _

Lifting a hand, he scrubbed at his jaw and swore that he'd be a better man this time around. Be the man that Kara needed. The thought led him back to the Cylon holding cell and Kara's pseudo-husband within.

Lee remembered that while listening to Tigh catch up with his wife, thinking that perhaps he'd get more from Anders and had shifted his attention then to the four other occupants of the specially built cell. The Six that called herself Caprica had moved off into a corner to speak with the pseudo-reporter D'Anna Biers. Since he'd known that sensitive listening devices were recording their every word, he'd let his gaze move on to where the tall form of Sam Anders leaned against the far wall and blue eyes had locked with their counterpart. His gaze had dropped then to linger on the man's bare arms and the pale, unmarked skin of his right bicep. Anders must have noted his attention to the missing tattoo and read something of the Lee's satisfaction at its absence for the man had straightened and regarded him with a wariness that hadn't been there the moment before.

As Lee lightly cupped Kara's feet, one thing that had always bothered him surfaced as he recalled the shift in Anders' bearing as the two of them had scrutinized each other through the cell's mesh re-enforced walls. Had her husband ever suspected that she and Lee were more than just comrade-in-arms? Had Kara ever confessed to Anders how the night before their abrupt nuptials she had first moaned Lee's name and then shouted her proclamation of love for _him_ into the New Caprican night?

He ground his teeth at the certainty that the later had never happened, but he still wasn't sure about the former. Regardless, during that moment facing each other, Lee knew that he'd put Anders on notice that the ex-pyramid player didn't have an exclusive claim on her anymore.

His eyes shifted again, settling on Kara's swollen lip and he didn't hold back the scowl this time. He had immediately noticed it when she'd finally turned from her position in the corner of the cell, but he'd also seen that she was on the point of collapse and realized that it wasn't the time to demand explanations. As he studied how the perfect curve of her mouth had been marred, he tried to work out when she could've had time to mix it up with someone. She'd been fine when he'd left her in the Admiral's quarters. So, either there had been a scuffle with a guard or…

Heat rose up his neck, chasing an ugly suspicion that became a nasty hiss in his mind. Kara had been alone with Laura and his father. She'd had a secret that she was afraid to reveal to a wider audience. And while his dad had never been the kind to physically discipline either he or Zak during his periods of presence in their childhood, Lee still knew he had a temper. His nostrils flared as he recalled his dad confessing how he had shoved Kara from her chair when challenging her over her post-New Caprican behavior. So the idea that his father had struck Kara seemed plausible and Lee had to restrain the urge to go confront him right then and there. Only the weight of her feet in his lap held him in place.

Flexing his fingers and rotating his neck, Lee sought to calm the outrage so as not to disturb the resting figure. His dad could wait.

As the flush of rage receded, his thoughts shifted to what she could have possibly said to incite such a response. For as angry as he was at the Admiral, Lee knew that it must have taken a potent provocation for him to descend to the level of striking her. The idea that Kara had confessed that she really was a Cylon crossed his mind, but he immediately dismissed it, reminding himself of Cottle's assurances otherwise. So, if not that, then what else could have stirred his father to such a violent reaction?

Lee gave a frustrated sigh and let his head thump softly against the wall in recognition that he wasn't going to find out until one of the primaries decided to fill him in. He blinked repeatedly as the brig's harsh light made his eyes ache. Then again, all of him ached he abruptly realized.

He shut his eyes and concentrated on the steady in and out whisper of Kara's respiration as she slept. Slowly his own picked up a matching rhythm and he began to drift.


	126. Chapter 126 Pyramids

Chapter 126 Pyramids

Sam was thankful that the Admiral hadn't seen fit to order that the three of them be shackled and collared before being herded to the holding cell; it was bad enough having so many itchy triggers aimed his way without worrying that he might stumble and startle someone. He could feel the eyes of every crewmember follow them as they made their way through Galactica's corridors. And while the Marines didn't shove him into the cell, the deep distrust on their faces—a few of which he recalled from the New Caprican resistance—brought his hopes for an easy alliance into sharp doubt.

After he had crossed to the far wall and turned so he could take in the entire room at once, he chided himself. They'd known this wasn't going to be a cakewalk. He, Ellen, Leoben and D'Anna had discussed the Colonials' likely reactions to the revelation of their identity. The fact that they also knew the names of the other three unrevealed Cylons was both a card to play and a potential bomb if they handled it wrongly—so much so that they had all agreed, some only begrudgingly, that it was best to let Kara establish the initial contact. Let Adama and Roslin learn from someone they trusted the reasons behind their presence and that they weren't trying to hide anything.

With that plan in mind, none of them had protested against being sent immediately into detention. Their game was to wait for the leadership to come to them for verification, to let the Colonials initiate the talks. So when Saul appeared with Lee Adama at his heels, Sam had been at first worried, then encouraged, and then finally just confused.

It wasn't possible to hear what the Colonial Officer was saying to the guard, but the older man's bearings and that of the younger Adama's seemed to negate Sam's initial belief that they were here to add Tigh to the group of prisoners. Well, if the man wasn't joining them, then that must mean that the Admiral at least trusted him enough to let him stay free. Definitely a good sign. But as Sam listened to Ellen's side of the conversation and studied Saul's reactions, doubt crept in and he forced himself to lean nonchalantly against the bulkhead and not reveal any response as he came to the conclusion that no one—possibly even Saul himself—knew that the XO was a Cylon.

_Why in the seven-gates-of-hades not? What's Kara's game here?_

He caught the movements of the man's one good eye as it would occasionally move from him to the Three before returning to the woman before him. Because he was listening for it, he heard the hesitation in Ellen's answer when she said 'no' about knowing who the other three models were. Obviously she had decided that now wasn't necessarily the best time to out her husband and Sam had to uneasily agree as he mentally ran through possible reasons for how this encounter was going down. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since Kara had been led away, but it surely had been enough for her to fill in the Fleet's leadership and to make the rebels' offer of an alliance known.

Yet here they were, all so careful to avoid revealing too much while trying to gauge exactly what the other knew…or didn't.

His gaze slid to the side and met the intent gaze of Lee Adama. There had always been a surly undercurrent beneath the pilot's outwardly polite demeanor towards him; was it possible he resented Sam for surviving the attack on the Colonies when so many hadn't? Maybe. But there had also been rumors and hints of a relationship between Kara and the young officer of which Sam had managed to mostly set aside as idle or malicious gossip.

Though that hadn't stopped him from checking to see if the Pegasus Commander had come dirtside on those New Caprican nights when Kara would pick a fight, then storm off and come back the next morning reeking of booze and sex. Sam had never found evidence of a liaison between them, but he _had_ come across a couple of men over those months that had boasted of giving a blonde ex-pilot the ride of her life. And though his knuckles were a little bruised on those occasions, he had never confronted Kara about her infidelity, deciding that since she'd given up the sky for him, an occasional need to fly elsewhere was something his could, albeit grimly, accept.

As long as it wasn't with the one they called Apollo.

Now, as he saw the blue eyes of the pseudo-god shift to his bare arm and narrow, Sam automatically straightened defensively and a new certainty gelled for him. And when Lee's hard stare met his again, Sam finally acknowledged what he'd subconsciously known all along.

The easy banter. The fleeting touches on an elbow or hand to draw the other's attention. How on entering a room, Kara's eyes always seemed to search for the man or gravitate to him whenever he entered. Sam had put it down as just the deep camaraderie that often developed between team members that worked so closely together. Hadn't he and Jean established a similar cohesion?

That's what he had thought—let himself believe.

But in that moment with the division between he and Lee marked by meshed plexiglass, Sam finally saw it all. The epiphany wasn't as profound as waking in the resurrection tank, but it tilted his world as thoroughly.

Lee Adama was in love with Kara Thrace.

And from the look Lee was giving him now, Sam was sure that the other man intended to act on his feelings this time. He immediately discarded the idea that Kara might actually welcome Adama's attention, hadn't his last memories before his death been of her professing her love?

Yet…

Recalling the horror and revulsion in Kara's expression as the realization of what his presence on the Heavy Raider meant, he felt queasy himself. He'd tried to get her to understand that it didn't change who he was…or his feelings for her. Her initial rejection and ongoing cold dismissal in the days that followed had been frustrating. He had sought to be patient, knowing that it was a lot for her to take in, especially given that she was stuck on a small ship with two of the people that had held her captive on New Caprica.

As his eyes shifted to where D'Anna was quietly arguing with the cell's other occupant, Sam frowned. It was less than a week ago when the robe-clad Three, accompanied by a Centurion, had entered Ellen's and his prison compartment. The woman's dark hair had still been damp with fluid from the resurrection tank and she had appeared shaken and disorientated—so much so that Sam had let Ellen dissuade him from killing her on the spot. Relenting to the older woman's contention that he didn't even know if it was the same Three from the detention center, he had curbed his anger long enough to see to the completion of their escape from the Resurrection Ship.

But it hadn't been long before Sam was regretting that decision. By the time Kara had faced him in the Raider, D'Anna had regained herself and made a poorly timed snarky remark. The Three had quickly rued speaking up when Kara had laid into her in a berserk rage. He almost hadn't stopped her when he realized that Ellen had been wrong and that it _was_ the same skinjob, figuring that she damned well deserved the beating she was getting. Only the knowledge of the importance of their alliance mission moved him to step forward and reluctantly pull Kara off.

His narrowed gaze could still discern the bruising on the Three's face and his lip curved up slightly in satisfaction. Over the past days more truth had come to light about Kara's time in D'Anna's care…and Leoben's.

Now his stomach really did lurch as his mind replayed the moment when all the little hints and innuendos dropped by the Three meshed with the hard truth of her outright statement that Kara had been raped by the Two. Up until then Sam had managed to convince himself that whatever she had suffered while in the Cylons' hands couldn't have been _too_ bad. Hadn't she been willing to tolerate Leoben's presence on the ship? And the fact that she had a gun and could've at any time shot both skinjobs only seemed to reinforce his denial.

That is, until everything had come apart when the Heavy's power had gone out. The disgust and rage Kara had focused so entirely on Leoben made D'Anna's revelation almost redundant…and definitely indisputable. When Kara had swung on the woman and she'd fallen against him, Sam had flung her aside as a wave of revulsion for everything Cylon flooded him. He couldn't read Kara's expression as she turned back to face the Two again, but the sharp report of the pistol stung his ears and Sam had blinked in the dim light, vaguely surprised to see the male Cylon still breathing—or rather rasping in pained gasps of air. His eyes had trailed down until he saw the mangled leg and understood that Kara had shot to maim, not kill. His own blood had been pounding in his ears, making it difficult to hear Kara's ranting as she had stepped forward to ground her foot down on the open wound. The scent of fresh blood had overlaid even the reek of their unwashed bodies and brought bile to the back of his throat as he watched Kara abruptly stumble back from the prone figure.

He had fought then to unlock muscles that had frozen at the tableau before him, wanting to reach out to steady Kara, but then she had seemed to regain her balance and had lifted the gun to align for a kill shot.

Only she hadn't pulled the trigger.

And as Sam had watched in bewildered disbelief, her arm had dropped to her side and she'd stood almost listlessly staring at Leoben.

As if her withdrawal had freed his limbs, Sam had moved then to take the pistol from Kara's unresisting hand. He remembered how steady his grip had been as he'd raised the gun and executed the Two. He'd felt the recoil of the shot up his arm but otherwise hadn't even blinked as the sandy-haired head had blown backwards. At his side, he'd been aware that Kara also seemed as unmoved.

_The bastard'll never touch you again._

…_never touch you again._

…_never again._

Grinding his teeth, Sam twisted away from the others in the holding cell and tried to smother the building rage that stirred as his imagination reeled out possible scenarios Leoben's assaults on Kara. He pressed his palms against the cold bulkhead and recalled other moments in the Raider with the Two. Moments now that he wished he could have back to make the man pay for what he'd done. One death wasn't enough to assuage his anger and pain. He almost wanted to believe that Leoben was wrong, that he would resurrect again so Sam could have another chance to stretch the Two's suffering.

Looking back at his naiveté, he chided himself. Of course he had known that it was _a_ Two that had come for Kara while he lay sick with pneumonia. And even early on he had overheard the rumors no one had dared say to him directly: the whispered speculation that it was the same skinjob she had tortured before that had taken her for retribution. As the weeks of the Occupation had slowly passed without a single word on Kara's whereabouts, Sam had become more and more reckless, driven by all the imagined torments she might have been enduring while he helpless waited for some word of her. His capture was assuredly due to his building desperation and though he had berated himself for an idiot, at the first sight of her, he had thanked the gods for her survival. Even as they both had realized that D'Anna intended to use one against the other, he had been ironically grateful that the Three seemed intent on working _him_ over instead of Kara. Despite the burning pain of the knife strokes, he had hungrily clung to his wife's eyes and mentally chanted thanks that she seemed relatively unharmed.

How was he to know that the wrists the Centurions had held behind her back were raw or that the sweatsuit that hung on her lean frame hid bruises in varying shades of healing. Only later, on the Heavy Raider, did he catch hints of what she had suffered when D'Anna or Leoben let slip a caustic taunt aimed at the other model. There was no love lost between the pair, and they sometimes forgot they'd an audience to their exchanges.

Initially Sam had had the impression that Leoben had acted as a protector of sorts for Kara, claiming that he'd taken her to keep her from joining the Resistance and thus attracting the deadly attention of his siblings. But in the long hours confined to his seat in the ship, Sam had pinpointed the falsehood. Leoben had come for Kara before a Resistance had even been formed. He supposed that the Two could have made the leap that there _would_ be a resistance movement and that Kara would insist on being deeply involved—hell, anyone that knew her at all would've bet on that. Still, there had just been something too intimate in Leoben's reverent tones when he'd spoken of her.

And then there was D'Anna.

Though Sam had made the decision to put the alliance talks above his desire for revenge on the Three, he'd made it clear to the woman that if she tried to lift so much as a finger against Kara, he and Leoben seal her in a crate for the remaining length of their voyage, regardless of _how_ long it took. She had taken their threat seriously—he suspected that the thought of being literally boxed had given even D'Anna sufficient reason to behave—and she had avoided provoking Kara in the following days…mostly. But that hadn't stopped her from making off-handed insinuations about what had been done to his wife while she'd been held.

More than once it was only Ellen's restraining hand on his elbow that had kept him from lashing out after some disparaging or revealing remark from D'Anna. In the quiet moments, he found himself perplexed by her malevolent manner. Memories of the original Three prototype confused him and he wondered what had caused this version to turn so bitter. He had had a private word, difficult in their circumstances but not impossible, about her with Leoben. The Cylon had shrugged and murmured that she'd never been quite this spiteful prior to her boxing and the Two had seemed satisfied to blame her present demeanor on the Cylon collective's decision to shelve her entire line.

Looking at her now, Sam could give a guess that she wasn't exactly sowing seeds of joint Human/Cylon peace into Caprica Six's ear. He shook his head at the miscalculation of the others in sending D'Anna along. Between her and Leoben, they had probably shoved out the airlock whatever willingness Kara had had to advocate an alliance. At that grim thought, he brought his attention back to Saul and Ellen who seemed to have finally fallen silent, yet each still held the handsets as if loath to lose the connection with the other once again.

Sam felt heat flush his neck as he recalled all the various ways Ellen Tigh had shown him to pass their time together on the Cylon ship. There was no doubt in his mind that the woman was the only reason he hadn't lost it completely and found a way to kill himself in the long weeks after his rebirth in the resurrection tank. She also had a way of smudging some of the worst of the pain after each of Cavil's mocking visits. The One never resorted to physical torture with them because he much preferred to torment them with stories of the abuse and deaths of their respective spouses. All along Ellen had refused to even entertain the notion that Saul was dead, but Sam hadn't been able to shrug aside Cavil's credible recounting of Kara's last days.

But Ellen had been right.

He abruptly turned his head away from the pair as arousal, densely mingled with guilt, stirred in his groin. As he considered whether to confess to Kara about the physical side of his confinement with the older woman, Sam grimaced, wondering if she'd even care. Of all the obstacles between them, he doubted that his infidelity was going to be a big one.

The click of the receiver returning to its cradle drew his attention and he saw the reluctance in Ellen's face as she stepped away from the partition. His brows rose slightly as Lee took the other handset from Saul and wave _him_ forward. As he crossed the space and lifted his end, Sam debated what he dared reveal to the other man. He could guess what answers Lee _wanted_, but he was also sure that those weren't the ones he was about to demand. At least not this publicly.

Giving him a questioning look, "Lee?" he said, deciding to see where the man took his line of questioning, hoping it would shed some light on what was happening with Kara.

"Anders." A long pause as Lee studied him. Then, "Can't say I ever saw this coming. How long have you known?"

"Yeah, me either." He looked away for a moment before meeting Lee's eyes again. "I thought I was human up until I woke in one of those Cylon bathtubs after New Caprica. I swear I never knew. You can believe that or not, but it's true."

Again the young officer scrutinized him, obviously trying to decide whether to put any stock in his words. Sam held himself steady beneath the other's regard and willed the man to accept that he was telling the truth.

"Let's say I believe you, what about now?" It wasn't said in a very reassuring manner, but Sam was relieved that at least he appeared willing to listen.

Putting all the assurance he could in his tone, "I'm not another Boomer, if that's what you mean," he stated.

"And we're supposed to just take your word for that?" Lee demanded with a derisive huff.

"Look, man. This is crazy. I know it. I can't even count how many toasters I've slagged since this thing started, and now… Hell, I don't know_._" He ground his teeth, trying to swallow the sick irony of not just his identity, but that of Saul's and Galen's. A slow burn made his fists clench as he remembered how Cavil had taunted him about his 'Resistance' efforts. Realizing that Lee had noticed his reaction, Sam gave a stiff shrug and forced his hands to relax.

Silence except for the slight hiss of the phone's connection stretched between them to the point that he was starting to wonder if Lee was finished with him. Then, "Tell me about the other three," Lee said, and Sam had to resist the urge to glance at the Colonel where he stood just off to the side now.

Instead of answering, he asked his own question.

"Where's Kara?"

He saw the corners of the pilot's mouth tighten and wondered if the glimpsed unease in his eyes was for Kara or because _he_ had asked after her.

"Not your concern," Lee coldly said, then snapped out, "The others. I want names."

Feeling his own ire rise at the dismissive tone, Sam abruptly returned the handset to its holder. Lee's startled expression turned furious and he shook the receiver meaningfully. Unimpressed, Sam crossed his arms, letting his own glare convey that he was done talking unless Lee was willing to explain what was happening with Kara.

As Lee slammed his handpiece home, Sam was honestly surprised. He would've bet that the man wouldn't have been so easily put off. So, when the figure spun and strode off, he was even more perplexed. But also thankful. He hadn't been prepared to answer questions about the others when he still didn't know where Admiral Adama and the President stood.

With only the guard watching now, he looked to the side and met Saul's eyes and was instantly sure Tigh had somehow come to know what he was. He saw a twitch start in the man's cheek and remembered from long ago that it was a 'tell' of his, a sign of barely restrained rage…or deep agitation. With the barest tilt of his head, he confirmed his knowledge of Saul's secret, then turned and moved to resume his former position against the back wall.

Watching Ellen move to place her palm against the plexiglass and Saul lift his own to mirror hers, Sam suddenly wished that he and Kara could have what he saw between the pair—the soul-deep need for each other despite all reason. Shifting his gaze away, a bleak voice whispered to him that it wasn't going to happen. Hadn't he had a year to try to forge that sort of connection only to slam time and again into the wall that Kara had built about her deeper self. Over those many months sharing a tent and life, he'd learned enough of her history to know that she was weighted by a cask of issues that would've staggered most people. Yet, despite all his attempts, Sam had never been able to get her to shift some of that load to him. To trust that he wouldn't waver if he was allowed to sample the bitter spirits of her distilled past.

If he hadn't been able to get through to her then, how the hell was he supposed to breach her defenses now when the entire foundation of their relationship had shifted with the revelation of his nature?

He dropped his gaze to his boots and vowed to keep trying.

* * *

Author's Notes: There has been a lot of talk lately of M rated stories being pulled/banned. Obviously this site has that right despite how unfair such a wide sweeping move would be to quality stories. So many of these stories are rated M because of theme with really minimal violence or sexual content, but that may not make a difference if there is a total deletion of posts.

I intend to continue this story to its end. I can be found at mserrada dot livejournal dot com should this event actually occur. I hope those that have followed my little fic will come by and keep up with it. Thanks!

* * *

PS: Reviews are always appreciated. They let the author know that you are really out there and not just a stat :)


	127. Chapter 127 Hatches

Chapter 127 Hatches

As the hatch closed behind the departing back of Kara Thrace, Laura turned and watched Adama move to the bar and pull the half-empty bottle towards him again. She frowned at seeing the tremble in his hand as he poured a full measure of amber liquor into the tumbler, but waited until after he'd taken a swallow before saying what was foremost in her mind.

"Bill, what were you thinking? Striking her like that. Knowing her history and all that girl's been through?" Her voice was calm but no one could mistake the admonishment in her tone. His shoulders hunched in response before he twisted to face her.

"She's lying," he bit out harshly, then folded both hands around the glass to stop the shaking that revealed how disturbed he was by Kara's accusations.

"No, she's not." As his eyes pinned her, she raised a hand to forestall his objection, "I'm not saying that what she's said is true, just that _she_ thinks it is," Laura quickly explained. "Her story's incredible, and of course we can't just take her words at face value," a gauging pause as she studied his grim expression before continuing, "but we can't just summarily dismiss them either."

He shook his head as if to throw off even the mere suggestion of any basis to Kara's allegations. Laura watched him struggle with his divided heart. It wasn't difficult to guess how the 'supposed' identity of the remaining three Cylon models was hitting him. But despite the provocation, his physically lashing out at one so already damaged was totally unacceptable.

"In these weeks since Kara's…" she hesitated, "…disappearance, I've watched you. Watched you wander Galactica's halls. You might have fooled your people, maybe even your son, but I _saw_ how her loss gnawed away at you." She pulled in a breath to give her strength to push on. "And now she's back. And not only do you fear losing her again, but she's threatening the one person that you've always relied on."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he grimly stated, gaze shifting from hers.

"I do. And you know it. You are so buckled up inside that you can't take anymore loss." Again he shook his head, but she pressed on. "Your son's leaving," lifting her arm to emphasis the taped cotton ball where Cottle had taken more blood, "…this, me, I know it."

After another swig, "No one's going anywhere," he flatly denied and Laura looked away, eyes blurring at his ongoing denial. She blinked a few times then looked back, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"Ok. Here's the truth. This is what's going on," she said. "You don't want to believe Kara. You would rather be wrong about Saul Tigh and face your own demise than risk losing another member of your family.

His face abruptly purpled with rage and he took a single step forward before halting with a jerk, and Laura saw dismay crumple his features as he realized how out of control his reactions were. Spinning away, he returned to the bar and emptied the remainder of the drink down its inset sink then stood breathing hard, hands supporting him on the polished surface.

More worried now than even before, Laura moved hesitantly to stand behind him before quietly saying, "We don't know that it's not true."

"It's not."

"Regardless, you still owe her an apology…at least that."

She saw a tremor sweep his frame before he reluctantly turned. He seemed surprised to find her so close, more so when she reached a hand forward to straighten his collar.

"Pull it together. We need you," her words soft yet bound with steel.

Searching his opaque eyes, she opened her mouth only to be interrupted by a knock on the hatch and heard the guard's announcement that Colonel Tigh was here. Her eyes met Bill's and she wondered if he was really up to confronting his friend about Kara's allegations. What she saw wasn't what she'd call reassuring, either, but she stepped away, moving to put some distance between them before he could call to for his second in command to enter.

As the XO saw her, his stride faltered before his gaze shifted to where Bill still stood by the bar. She saw him wet his lips as his eyes narrowed on the bottle just beyond his commanding officer's back. It didn't take much of a guess that he was fighting the urge to ask for a drink, and Laura had to wonder if he needed a shot of courage. As that thought came to her, she realized that she was giving more credence to Kara's charge than she had planned. Perhaps it was something in the older man's bearing that hinted at guilt that stoked her suspicion?

His next words only served to build on that impression.

"I need a word." His single-eyed gaze slid her way. "Alone."

Shifting her regard from one man to the other, Laura debated the wisdom of acceding to the Colonel's unsubtle request for her to leave. Deciding that this decision should rest solely with the Admiral, "Bill?" she prompted and watched him tense further before looking her way.

"If you'll excuse us, Madame President," he replied, voice expressionless as he met her searching gaze.

With another glance at Tigh where he stood ramrod straight, awaiting his commander's attention, she gave a small nod and moved to go. Even as she crossed the threshold, a small corner of her mind whispered that she should have insisted on remaining, that the Admiral's objectivity in relation to his XO was more than suspect. Pursing her lips, she resisted the impulse to turn and demand Bill's permission to stay. There was little she trusted, but she had learned to trust William Adama to do his duty—even though their concept of what that duty entailed did occasionally vary.

As she forced her steps to carry her back towards Galactica's sickbay…and another appointment with the doctor, Laura fervently hoped that her suspicions of Saul's presence proved ungrounded. She'd much rather have Kara's information be an attempt by the Cylons to mislead them than face what remained of Bill Adama if his best friend has just decided to confess that he's an enemy agent.

Abruptly she faltered and felt a steadying hand at her elbow.

"Sir?" her Marine escort asked, concern in his expression. She gave him a brief smile and shifted her arm from his hold.

"I'm fine, Travis," she replied, then wondered if it were true. A glance to reorient herself and then she resumed her course, abet slower this time. As she felt her escort fall into his position on her flank, Laura knew that he probably believed her moment of weakness an effect of her illness.

If only that were true.

In the turbulence of Bill's reaction to the allegation against Saul Tigh, she had been able to ignore the others Kara had indicted…specifically Laura's own aide. Yet now that her attention wasn't focused on dealing with the Admiral, the realization that Tory could also be a Cylon agent had swept over her like an unexpected gust of wind, both figuratively and literally causing her to reel.

How many of her 'supposed' secrets might the woman have passed on to the enemy?

Laura wracked her memory for what information Tory might have that could compromise the Colonials. The aide might not be privy to Galactica's protocols, but she certainly knew enough to present a grave security breach if she did prove out to be a plant.

As a pair of crewmen gave her respectful nods in passing, she forcefully shook off the dismay and reminded herself that it was as likely—probably more so—that Kara had been fed disinformation. Seriously. How could the Cylons really expect that she and the Admiral would believe that _those_ three were traitors? But even as she wondered that, she remembered that two as unlikely candidates were locked in a cell, confirmed as two of the five unknown models.

With a sigh, Laura picked up her pace. She decided the best course of action was to give Bill time to confront Saul, then return and discover what he'd learned. In the meantime, she was due back in sickbay. By now Doctor Cottle should have all of her tests back and soon they'd know if her cancer was spreading as aggressively as before.

Once again she felt that time had become an implacable enemy, far more so than any Cylon threat.

For time always won.

Always.

[ ]

Facing his Admiral—his friend—Saul waited until he was sure the hatch was secured before speaking. But as he sought to form words to lay his betrayal before Bill Adama, he found his thoughts flitting back over the events of the past few hours.

His shock at Starbuck's return was nothing compared to that of seeing his wife step from the Heavy Raider. It was her. Really her. _In all her blonde and brassy beauty she had come back to him! _Saul would've sworn his heart had broken ribs with its thunderous pounding, but then it had seemed to stop all-together as understanding struck him.

Ellen was a Cylon.

The first choking revelation gave way before the reminder that he was, too, afterall. The irony nearly unmanned him and he'd clung to the railing, sure that he'd plummet to the hard deck below if he'd dared let go. The words exchanged between the Admiral, Starbuck and then Lee hardly registered as the implications of Ellen's presence and purpose rampaged through his mind and emotions.

Where did her loyalties lie? Hadn't she already proved willing to sell out others to protect her own interests? At the thought that he might have to stand by and let her be airlocked, Saul's knees nearly buckled. Only his white-knuckled grip kept him upright as he envisioned having to sacrifice his wife for his duty once again. He blinked as he realized that this time was different. If Ellen's sole crime was being a Cylon, then he was as guilty and they should stand side-by-side in the launch tube.

_Let the godsdamned President pass judgment on them both and have done with it! _

On the catwalk, he had sharply inhaled as Bill had turned and spoken low words for his ears only, ordering him to hold it together and accompany him. Listening later to Bill briefing the President, he couldn't even recall following the Admiral to his quarters where there he'd repeatedly found his thoughts skittering below to Galactica's detention block. He'd mostly kept his peace when first Lee and then the Doc had joined them, but had found himself breaking when faced with Starbuck—and the abrupt suspicion that Thrace knew _his_ secret. Her demand to speak with the Admiral and President in private only solidified his fear. He had nearly blurted his confession right then and there, but the words hadn't been able to pass the strangle-hold that shame had on his throat. Instead he'd fled, his legs unconsciously carrying him to the specially made cell and his restored spouse.

He had so many questions.

And so many answers that he feared hearing.

Ellen had consumed his vision, but he'd managed to hold himself together to listen to her story of waking on the Resurrection Ship and remembering a past that had been blocked from her mind by John Cavil. Too well Tigh remembered _that_ sadistic bastard. Since the loss of Saul's eye, the One was a frequent visitor to his nightmares. Discovering that Cavil and his line were behind the mass suppression of the other models didn't come as a surprise. It just drilled his hatred of the Cylon deeper.

But talk of the One's traitorous actions were secondary to Saul. His need—and dread—was for confirmation of his own true identity. Did Ellen know that _he_ was one of the remaining unknown models? Did the others? It hadn't escaped his notice that the Cylon woman that had masqueraded as a nosy reporter was in the cell's corner, undoubtedly scheming with that Caprica Six model.

Now, Sam Anders had been another matter. The man had watched him with an apparent disinterest that hadn't fooled Saul one iota. The only question was whether Anders knew his secret. And if Anders knew, did that mean Ellen did, too?

He'd then seen the truth in her eyes when she'd denied knowing the names of the others. Saul had suddenly realized then that he may have already lost his chance to come forward and tell Bill the truth in his own time and way. Why else would Starbuck have purposefully excluded him from her debrief? She must have planned on exposing him to the Admiral and President.

Now as he stood before Bill, he somehow had to find the courage to confess and face the consequences, including the probable loss of a friendship that had seen him through his darkest days. Resolutely ignoring the craving that urged him to delay longer by requesting a drink, he braced himself. The words felt as hard as stones as he forced them past the constriction in his throat.

"I should've told you when I first found out, but I didn't have the guts," he ground out, self-disgust roughening his voice. "There was a…a trigger. Some kinda crazy, frakked up Cylon signal. Switched me on." He paused, recalling the hit of knowledge and the mental suffocation it caused which nearly drowned him in the days following that moment. He swallowed, shoving aside his personal horror in order to continue. "I can't turn it off."

He watched as Bill removed his glasses and set them aside on the bar's surface while never breaking eye contact. The Admiral's face was impassive and Saul wasn't sure what to make of his reaction. Was he surprised…or had he already known because Starbuck had warned him?

Then Bill flatly said, "Switched you on?"

Saul stood even straighter, still at a loss how to interpret his friend's closed off features, but pushed on with his explanation.

"Like Boomer," he said. "I'm one of the five, one of the Cylons we haven't seen before." As Bill expressionlessly regarded him, Saul kept his hands pressed against the side-seams of his pants to prevent them from shaking.

"Quit frakkin' with me," his friend finally said. "Colonel, I've known you for thirty years."

"I didn't know myself until just a few weeks ago."

"Think about this." Bill closed the distance between them, and now Saul could see the cracks forming in the other man's mask of impassivity as he continued. "When I met you, you had hair. I've never heard of a Cylon aging."

"Doesn't mean they don't." He felt sweat trickle down his back. It was becoming more difficult holding himself steady now, but he was determined to finish what he'd started. "Before the attack on the Colonies, we didn't know skinjobs existed." Taking a breath, he put forth his strongest point. "You've seen Ellen age and yet you can't deny what _she_ is," and one last push, "what we are."

Saul was shocked at the speed in which he found himself on his back on the cabin's floor with Bill's hands knotted in his collar as the other man knelt over him. The betrayal and rage flushing his friend's face had replaced the mask of a moment ago. Saul didn't resist, just met the wild look with a contrite one of his own.

"Why?" Bill demanded, tone hoarse and bitter.

"Don't know. Ellen might," he gasped out as the jacket fabric about his neck tightened.

Abruptly releasing his hold as if afraid of fouling his hands, Bill stepped back and the revulsion in his eyes was more painful to Saul than even when his eye had been plucked from his head. His gaze flinched away and he lay stiffly still, unsure whether to stay where he was and await the summoning of guards or to struggle to his feet to face his fate. Deciding on the later, he rolled to his knees and pushed himself upright.

Seeing that Bill had wandered closer to the cabin's sofa and actually stood with his back to him, Saul felt a flare of hope stir. The Admiral not only hadn't immediately called in the Marines to frog-march him to the brig, but he'd gone so far as to leave himself unprotected to any attack the Colonel might attempt.

Wiping his hand over his balding pate, Saul sought a way to prove his allegiance, but all the previous ideas he'd considered seemed as inadequate as before. Not moving closer to the hunched figure, he cleared his throat.

"Bill, I swear I'm the same man," he began, noting the slight twitch of the other's shoulders as his words broke the silence. "It's still me. An hour ago. A day. Hells, even twenty years ago. I'm Saul Tigh." His voice gathering strength. "I swore an oath. I'm loyal and no Cylon programming's gonna change that one frakkin' bit!"

As his commander and friend continued to appear to ignore him, Saul's shamed anxiety flashed into frustration.

"Godsdamnit, Bill,"he snapped, then practically shouted,_ "Look at me!",_ and was rewarded as the other man spun to face him. The look in his pale eyes made Saul abruptly wish that he hadn't. They reflected betrayal and a soul-deep anguish. Bill's voice reflected the same; it sounded liked shattered as glass when he spoke.

"I am," the Admiral slashed out, "I'm looking at you…and you make me sick."

Saul recoiled as if slapped, then resumed his parade-sharp stance awaiting his commanding officer's orders, but found that he couldn't meet Bill's gaze any longer, unable to stomach what he'd seen there.

He didn't move as the Admiral crossed the cabin and ordered the guard on duty to enter.

"Colonel Tigh is under arrest," Adama said to the Marine. As the Admiral continued, "Put him in the Cylon holding cell with the others," Saul saw the confused look the young man gave him.

"Sir?"

"You heard me, Corporal Trumbo," the Admiral's cold reply. "Escort the prisoner below. Double the duty guards and let them know that no one_—no one_—is allowed access to the prisoners until further notice."

"Yes, Sir! Admiral, Sir!" the guard snapped out, still obviously flustered but having gotten the message. He shifted his assault rifle in a clear warning and to indicate for Tigh to proceed him.

With his one remaining eye, Saul forced himself to meet Bill's hard gaze and said, "By your command," unable to resist the perverse urge. As the lines around his friend's eyes and mouth tightened, he snapped up a hand in a salute before moving to stiffly exit.

The clang of the hatch closing with more force than usual almost made him falter, but Saul forced his legs steadily forward, retracing his recent path.

[ ]

Lee jerked his chin up from his chest as the clank of metal on metal pulled him awake. Blinking groggily, it took him a moment to remember where he was and why. As he did, his worried gaze shifted to the side and he was relieved to see that Kara slept on, oblivious to the sound that had disturbed him.

Looking up now, he saw Helo standing at the cell's closed door watching them with a bemused expression. Lee wasn't sure what to make of the man's presence, but he didn't want to risk waking Kara from a sleep she so obviously needed. With a finger to his lips, he signaled for silence and saw the acting-CAG nod in understanding and then saw Karl's features soften as they shifted once more to the sleeping form. He thought that her friend had probably just come down to see for himself that Kara had returned, but as his attention shifted back to Lee, worry now dimmed the other man's happiness of a moment ago.

The tall pilot's wave for Lee to join him outside of the cell made it clear that he was here on more than just a personal visit…or he never would be insisting with a second, and more adamant wave that Lee come out. A part of Lee was tempted to refuse. All he desperately wanted was to stay here and just be with Kara.

_Why the frak can't they leave us in peace for awhile?_

He saw Karl's comprehension in the small shake of his head, but a third wave from the officer made it evident that it wasn't a request. With a grimace, Lee reluctantly eased Kara's sock-clad feet from his lap, sliding free until he could stand and, gazing down, was reassured by her steady breathing she hadn't roused.

He ran a hand over his face, then turned and exited the cell as quietly as possible, not bothering to relock the door for fear of disturbing her. He followed Helo out the hatch, appreciating the other man's careful attempts to be as quiet as possible. His order to the guard to make sure that Kara's rest wasn't disturbed earned a thankful nod from Lee and he trailed the taller figure a distance before the man entered a deserted storage room.

"Sorry, Lee," Karl said, "Admiral's orders and it's taken me forever to locate you. Should've known to just start with where Kara was." He huffed a laugh, joy and awe again infusing Karl's features. "She's back. Did it again."

Lee's own emotions spiked again in response to Helo's. He was right, Kara had done it again, found a way to return against all odds. Abruptly, like before, he found his breaths coming in panicked gasps. Karl seemed to sense how overwhelmed he was, for he rested a firm hand on Lee's shoulder and ordered him to concentrate on slow, steady breaths. After a minute, the choking tightness eased and he straightened.

"Better?"

"Yeah, just…" he trailed off, unable to explain panic attacks when here he should be celebrating. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Hey, I know Kara's breathtaking," Helo quipped, tripping up Lee's frustrated thoughts, "but don't you dare tell her _I_ said that. I've got my two girls, three would be more than I could handle," Helo devoutly added, his tone overly dramatic. Then as if in an afterthought, "And don't tell her _that_ either. I've been know to boast of having a harem in every port and wouldn't want to sully my rep any now."

Lee appreciated Karl's attempts to jolly him from the oppressive mood and, wiping his clammy hands down his slacks, he shifted to focus on the concerned figure. Helo must have been reassured by what he saw in his face, for he gave Lee's shoulder a friendly smack.

"Come on. The Admiral's scheduled a pilots' briefing in," a quick glance at his watch, "little over an hour and he wanted to meet with you first." Lee gave a questioning look, and Helo shrugged. "He didn't say what it's about, but he's only tapped those that are Raptor-qualified." With a slight tilt of his head, Agathon scrutinized him while Lee struggled to keep his expression clear as one possible reason jumped to mind.

Apparently coming to the conclusion that Lee wasn't going to offer up any guesses, Helo gave another shrug, then straightened, his expression taking on a grim cast. Lee tensed with the premonition that the other man was finally getting to the real purpose for pulling him into a deserted room.

"Colonel Tigh's been arrested."

The words were clear, but it still took a moment for Lee to process them. When he did his eyes widened.

"W-what?" he found himself stuttering out.

"The Admiral had him escorted under guard and put in with the Cylon prisoners." At Lee's incredulous look, Helo gave a grim nod before adding, "Chief Tyrol and the President's aide, too." Lee stared at him in dumbfounded silence, trying to wrestle some sense into his father's actions. There could only be one reason that he'd had the three locked in with the others. But that meant…

Running both hands over his face, Lee tried to organize his thoughts from the chaos of Helo's revelations. One thing came sharply into focus. Kara had known. _That_ was why she'd been so insistent that she speak only with the President and Admiral. She'd learned the identity of the remaining three and needed to warn his dad without letting the XO know that she was on to him.

The Colonel's questions in the brig earlier came to mind, and Lee realized that Tigh had been pumping his wife for information, not for the Fleet, but to learn whether his cover was blown. It explained his willingness to not press the matter—he'd already known. And yet…on the other hand, none of it made sense. This was his father's best friend. His shipmate from way back.

"The Chief?" He hadn't realized that he'd spoken outloud until Helo's word's cut across his roiling confusion.

"I've know Galen…" the taller man started before trailing off.

Lee could guess that he was recalling his and Tyrol's joint history with Boomer and wondering if it had been an act all along. The Chief's reveal was bad enough, but Lee swallowed, his jaw clenching as he considered what it meant for his dad to openly arrest Saul Tigh.

Realizing that he was wasting valuable time, he stepped past Helo to the storage room's hatch. It did him little good speculating. Better to go straight to his dad to find out what the hell was going down. As he crossed the threshold and turned to hurry towards the Admiral's quarters, he wondered in what condition he'd find his father.

Behind him, Helo closed the room's hatch and quickly followed.


	128. Chapter 128 Conversations

Chapter 128 Conversations

Lee's gaze swept the cabin, sharply satisfied that this time it was just the two of them. He also noted that the bar's bottles and glasses had been put away out of sight. Considering how much his father had been drinking lately, the realization that he'd stowed the liquor beyond easy reach was reassuring. Last thing the Galactica needed, he grimly thought, was its XO _and_ Admiral stumbling drunk.

As he recalled Tigh's recent testimony at Baltar's trial, he frowned, wondering if it had been as apparent to others—to his father—as himself that the Colonel had been hitting the sauce again. It had come as a surprise to Lee because, though he'd been distracted with all that had been happening with Kara prior to her disappearance, he had assumed that Tigh had finally gotten himself together when he'd resumed his post in CIC.

With a mental shake, he pulled his thoughts from the XO and scrutinized his father. The senior Adama sat at his desk, hands loosely placed palms up with his eyes downcast as if studying something they held that only he could see. There was a certain…frayed look in the deeply etched lines of his dad's face, and Lee abruptly wondered how long it had been since the Admiral had taken any rack time.

Seeing him like this damped the thrumming anger that had been building in Lee since Helo's revelation. In the few minutes it had taken for him to cover the distance from the brig to Officer's Country, Lee had built up a head of steam, now, reminded again of all the strain his father was under, he hesitated before speaking.

"Sir," he said, making the effort to keep his tone neutral. When the hunched figure didn't respond, his voice rose, "Dad?"

Finally opaque eyes lifted to meet his.

"I'm making you XO. Effective immediately." His father's voice sounded like driftwood cast ashore as storm debris and it took a moment for _what_ he'd said to register. When it did, Lee had a rush of conflicting emotions. Forcing himself to shrug them aside, he focused on the larger implications of the statement.

"Why?"

A long pause, then, "Because I need someone I know—" Adama started, but bit off the remainder of his words, lips compressing into a grimace.

Studying his father's stony expression, Lee's first guess was that he'd been about to say 'someone he knew he could trust', but hadn't he just a week ago disparaged Lee's integrity? At the remembered sting of his father's prior insinuation, his brows dropped and he again demanded, "Why?"

This time the older Adama's eyes shifted away, but not before Lee had glimpsed the pain in their depths…and then he understood.

It was true. Saul Tigh was a Cylon.

He swallowed, mentally shuddering at the thought of all the ways the Fleet had been vulnerable with the XO in league with the enemy. Yet, even as that thought shook him, Lee realized just how contradictory it was to reality. How many opportunities had the Colonel had to betray them? Certainly too many to count. Yet he hadn't. And if the man had actually been a sleeper agent all this time, why hadn't the Cylons triggered him before?

It just didn't make sense.

As his attention came back to the Admiral, Lee guessed that he was wrestling with the same questions. This day had brought into sharp focus how the years of hard decisions had worn away at the granite bedrock of his father's strength, and Lee realized that this weariness wasn't something a few hours of sleep was going to solve. He could see that the revelation of Saul's nature had shaken the already weakened foundation and he knew—_knew_—that another blow would crumble this man that he'd grown up thinking as unshakable. Bleakly, Lee also recognized what Roslin's renewed use of chamalla meant and it chilled him at what her loss would do to his dad.

All this came to him in a brief moment of clarity and Lee felt a swelling resolution speed his blood and firm his course. Despite how much he wanted to provide his support, how easy it would be to fall back into his old role as a good little soldier, he could now see his place—not that of an underling to the Admiral, not even just as an obedient son to a father.

After all, a shadow had no substance.

"Make Captain Agathon the XO," he said. "He's ready for more responsibility and there's not a steadier officer in the fleet." As surprised eyes snapped to his own, "I resigned. Maybe for the wrong reasons before," he hesitated, then "Baltar's trial may have been the trigger, but this is a feeling I've been having for awhile. It's time for a change. I need to move on."

"The Fleet needs you. I…Your place is here," his father's voice rumbled from deep in his chest.

"No, Dad, it's not." Then he amended, "Not as your XO. Things are happening. What with Kara's return and those she brought back…and now Saul." Despite the tightening around his father's mouth he pushed on, "I know you want someone you're sure of. It just can't be me." The eyes that met his own now turned flinty cold and Lee hastily sought a way to convince his father that this wasn't another betrayal. "This has nothing to do with us. I-I've just got the strongest feeling that there's something else I need to do."

"Bullshit," the expletive slashed him despite how quietly it was spoken and Lee instinctively flinched before stiffening his resolve.

"Bullshit," his father repeated as he shoved away from the desk to stand, the creases of his weathered face taking on the harsh countenance of a wrathful statue as he glared across at Lee. "You have 'the strongest feeling'," Adama's lip curling with distaste, "Kara had _the strongest feeling_ that she should dive into that storm. Laura has _the strongest feeling_ that she's this prophesied dying leader. All these feelings," his voice didn't rise, but he'd spat out the next words as if they'd a foul taste, "and I'm sick of them!"

Lee held himself steady beneath the pressure of his father's tirade, fighting against the instilled compulsion to bend before authority. He understood the sense of grief that was driving his dad, hadn't he just been fighting off moments of panic himself? Yet he couldn't—wouldn't—let his actions be dictated by the fear of further loss. If only he could make his father recognize that there was something greater at work behind these convictions. But even as that thought emerged, Lee frowned.

Since when had _he_ started to believe that there were forces beyond the physical guiding them? Was he actually willing to acknowledge Kara and Laura's religious dogma as factual doctrine? As the many reasons for his past skepticism came to mind, a shift occurred and he began to see with a new perspective.

Choices.

It has always been about choices: from the choice of what to eat for breakfast to whether to follow illegal orders…or to hold a gun to a superior officer's head.

The gods had not made the Cylons. Humans had. And it was the choice to mistreatment their creations that had eventually led to the destruction of the Twelve Colonies, not some Cylons' monolithic God expressing a malevolent will. Lee had seen the result of poor decisions, had made too many of his own to count, yet he'd also witnessed numerous moments when people went beyond themselves to do better, choose better.

Choices.

As this idea swept him, Lee didn't shrug aside the realization that only in hindsight could one be sure of the best course of action. Life often gave people little time to consider the ramifications of their actions and reactions. Accidents happened because it was impossible to predict every outcome of a choice. Life happened in an instant…and then another…and then the next. So, were they really able to make independent decisions? Was his determination to follow this new path _his _choice—or Fate forcing him along a preset course?

_This has all happened before…_

Lee couldn't remember where he'd heard the phrase, but he clenched his jaw at the implications that he was destined to follow the same pattern as in some prior existence. No. No, conceding to that idea was a quick ejection to the enveloping depression that had nearly suffocated him after the Blackbird mission. Whatever lay ahead, he would make his own decisions and accept their consequences. Any other belief shifted responsibility to the fates and gave people the option to shrug aside their own accountability.

Meeting his father's unyielding gaze, Lee Adama made his choice.

[ ]

As Lee sat in the room he'd chosen to use for the interrogations, he found himself replaying the Admiral's reaction to his continued refusal to resume his fleet duties. The confrontation had at first followed along the same pattern as so many of theirs in the past, but this time Lee had refused to let himself be spurred to anger or defensiveness. And as they'd faced off, he'd eventually brought the Admiral around to a grudging acceptance of a compromise. Helo would be promoted to XO and Lee had agreed to act in a similar capacity to his former position as liaison to the civilian fleet…but this time Lee had insisted that he be independent from both the Admiral and President, a true neutral party, one able to see each side and also that of such opponents like Tom Zarek.

And his first assignment in his new position was the debriefing of the Cylon prisoners—all of them. Which explained why he was waiting for the first prisoner to be brought to him and yet had retained his civilian garb.

Wetting suddenly dry lips, Lee considered the Admiral's revelation that the Cylons, or more accurately a faction of them, claimed that they wanted an alliance with the Colonials against the other models. The news of a civil war had been a surprise, yet nothing compared to his father's confirmation that the Colonel, Chief and the President's aide were skinjobs. So, if their original source had told the truth, all twelve models had finally been identified.

Lee frowned as he recalled the suspicions of both Roslin and his father when they'd awaited Cottle's report on Kara. They obviously had to accept now that she wasn't a Cylon, but that didn't mean that there weren't still doubts about her reliability. Clearly Kara's debrief had held more surprises than he could have ever guessed. His dad had relayed the message she'd carried of the Cylons' offer of support against their brethren in trade for a place within the Fleet, and had made it clear that it was up to Lee in his new position to discern whether it was an elaborate trap or a bona-fide offer.

Standing, Lee stretched as he again contemplated the news that their enemy was embroiled in a civil war. Initially he'd had the hope that they might kill each other off. And even if they didn't, with their ranks in such disarray, surely they'd break off the relentless pursuit of the remnants of humanity?

Obviously the Admiral and President weren't willing to trust to that assumption.

Resuming his seat in the interrogation room, Lee had to acknowledge that the Cylons had shown that logic didn't necessarily played a significant part in their programming—at least when it came to dealing with their human creators.

Yet…an alliance?

Noticing that his hands had clenched into fists, Lee forced them flat on the table as he remembered his initial reaction: he had gaped in disbelief then paled when he'd realized that his father and the President were actually considering the option. After all that the Cylons had done in the past, they actually had the gall to suggest such an alliance? He had seethed at the suggestion. His shocked protest that it was crazy to even consider the proposal had met with a grim agreement from his father, but then he had also reminded Lee that sometimes the enemy of your enemy was your friend. Forced to take a step back from absolute denial and look at the potential benefits of such an alliance, Lee had reluctantly seen that the offer had to at least be evaluated. Remembering the sour look on his father's face, it had been obvious that he'd found the notion as repugnant.

Pulling his hands back into his lap, Lee grimly recalled his objection that there were no assurances that the Twos, Sixes and Eights would stay true to their oath even if by some chance an agreement was struck with them. It had only been after the Admiral's assurance that no decision would be made until all those held now in the Cylon cell had been thoroughly questioned that Lee had begun to accept that the Colonials' two leaders hadn't just gone off the deep end. One other doubt had chafed his thoughts: what proof did the Admiral really have about this supposed civil war anyway?

In the end, it all came back to Kara.

Listening to his dad relay Kara's certainty of the conflict, Lee had again felt a flicker of rage threaten his restraint as the image of her swollen lip and his belief that his father had caused it surge forward. Only an iron resolve had kept him from confronting his father right then, but Lee had known that he couldn't afford—_the Fleet couldn't afford_—for him to lose focus on the immediate dilemma of the Cylons' proposal.

For a moment he felt light-headed. With so many things coming at him in less than a day, he felt like the world had tilted once again. Lee scrubbed at his face, trying to push aside the fatigue the short nap in the brig had barely touched and force his thoughts to the upcoming meetings. He had to have all his wits about him during the upcoming interrogations.

And interrogations is how he still viewed them.

Athena may have convinced him that it was possible for an individual Cylon to defy both her programming and her own people, but that didn't mean Lee was ready to accept the same from the seven prisoners he was about to confront. He'd decided to start with the Six calling herself Caprica, wanting to get some read on how she viewed the new prisoners and what might have been discussed between them—on his earlier visit to the cell, Lee had seen how intently D'Anna had questioned the tall blonde, and while he had replayed their recorded conversation, he wanted to hear Caprica's view on their discussion and the reveal of the final five.

The hatch creaked open.

It was time to begin.

[ ]

An hour later, Lee watched the departing back of the Six and considered not just her words, but the sincerity he'd heard in them. Caprica had insisted that she hadn't known the identity of the five, explaining that she and the others had always been 'strongly discouraged' from dwelling on thoughts of the lost ones. When pressed, she confessed that it was physically painful to think about them and even admitted to having a pounding headache now after having been confronted with their reality.

Lee's lips thinned as he recalled Caprica's troubled 'no' when asked if she knew who had instigated their aversion programming. He had decided she wasn't lying, but probably had her suspicions. The most obvious answer were the Five themselves—likely to protect their cover identities. But again, the lack of action taken against the Fleet seemed to argue against that motive. Why put assets in place and never use them?

Passing a hand over his aching eyes, Lee considered what other reasons existed.

The year above New Caprica hadn't been entirely spent stuffing his face. Many of those hollow hours had been consumed by reading what reports were available on the various known models, and Lee believed that he'd gotten at least a tentative grasp on the general purpose and personality of each. Of the seven he'd studied, the Ones had repeatedly appeared as the dominate model—this despite Athena's assertions that the Cylons operated as a collective with each line having an equal vote.

Thoughts of the Eight, drew Lee's eyes to the clock and he wondered how Athena and the other pilots were taking the Admiral's admission. His father had finally decided to disclose the truth to those that had been involved in the Raptor mission through the radiation storm. An hour ago when his dad had informed him of the purpose of the upcoming briefing, Lee had bitten back a curt accusation that it was about time and held his temper. At least in this he could give the Admiral his full support knowing that his father was trying to correct his original misjudgment in hiding the facts from their people.

Lee's lips thinned as he tried to predict how they'd take the news that the repeated passages through the radiation field had probably rendered them all sterile. He was more worried about how they'd take the breach of trust than their reaction to not being able to have children. It was the hurt of betrayal he'd seen in Kara's eyes as she made it clear in sickbay that she knew the truth. Her words then had been a bitter lash, especially since he had argued so stridently for her to be included in the Admiral's confidence.

Now, with an determined shrug, he pushed those concerns aside. The pilots were no longer his problem he reminded himself as two rifle-wielding Marines escorted in his second interview.

Waving towards the chair on the opposite side of the table, "Have a seat, Mrs. Tigh," he instructed, tone neutral as he studied her freshly showered appearance. The grey jumpsuit she'd been issued gave her a washed out look, but was still a vast improvement over the grungy white sweats she'd come aboard wearing.

"Lee, so formal," Ellen chided as she settled onto the hard chair as if onto a comfortable sofa with the expectation of a friendly afternoon chat, "Saul and I are still your godsparents, you know." At his unresponsive look, she sighed and shifted, sitting forward with a business-like expression and said, "Well, I want to thank you Commander Adama for arranging for us to have a chance to clean up."

He guessed that Ellen was hoping to establish the tone of their time together. Experience with the older woman had taught Lee that she was always working an angle. And as he took in her words, he figured that she thought by showing gratitude for his order for the prisoners to be given showering privileges and a change of clothes it would make him sympathetic. She would soon discover otherwise.

"It's not Commander now," he corrected, and she arched her eyebrows, waiting for clarification. He hesitated, uncertain what—if any—explanation to use since he hadn't given any forethought to how his new status would come across to the prisoners. As the corner of Ellen's mouth lifted in just the tiniest of smirks, he knew that she thought she'd put him off balance and in the position of having to react rather than lead the conversation. Well, she was going to be disappointed. If there was one thing he'd learned from his time as the commander of Pegasus, it was how to stay on task. "Mr. Adama will do," was all he said in reply.

"Come now. After all these years, don't you think that's a little unnecessary?"

Ignoring her comment, he spread a handful of papers across the table's surface and pretended to be studying them, aware as he did so that she was trying to decipher them upside down from her position opposite. Having already poured through what little they had in Galactica's computers on the XO's spouse, Lee didn't need a re-read, he had just remembered how disconcerting he'd found the same ploy when Romo Lampkin had used it on him at the beginnings of their working relationship. He thought the same tactic might unsettle the woman across from him.

After giving Ellen just enough time to determine that the sheets were all about her, Lee shuffled them together and placed them face down before lifting his gaze to meet her uneasy one. He held her eyes unwaveringly but said nothing. Under his scrutiny, she shifted slightly on her seat, eyes dropping to the documents again and then back to his, then narrowing in obvious frustration as he let the silence lengthen.

Finally she said, "We really didn't know," tone defensive but with an undercurrent of defiance. As he remained mute in response, "We didn't. Believe me, it came as much of a shock to us as to any of you. And Saul's not taking it well—" Lee couldn't hold back a brief snort and she gave a small shake of the head before she continued. "Of course you don't believe me. Why would you? It's not like you and your father have _known_ us for years. Or that Saul's _always_ put the well-being of the Fleet ahead of all else." Her voice took on a bitter edge of ice as she added, "After all, what have we sacrificed to prove our loyalty?" She settled back in her seat then, drawing her hands into her lap and leveled a look on him that dared him to show his derision again.

As it became obvious that she wasn't going to continue without some sort of response, Lee gave a brief nod, acknowledging the points she'd made. Considering that her words just echoed the same argument of his own earlier thoughts, he had to grudgingly concede that maybe the Tighs were owed the benefit of the doubt. But then again, wasn't that why his father was even contemplating an alliance—his inability to shake the his deep-seated certitude in Saul's loyalty?

He saw Ellen relax as she read the concession in his expression and she regained her prior aplomb.

"I realize that perhaps I'm not the best choice to convey the offer, but unfortunately Leoben's not able."

"I'd say that's damned fortunate," Lee snapped out before he could help himself, memories of the bits and pieces Kara had related about her time on New Caprica twisting his gut. "You can be sure he'd have been put down with his first step onboard." Lee didn't miss the flicker of dismay in the woman's eyes at the venom in his voice. Then he saw understanding raise her brows.

"Kara," she murmured as if a revelation, "Of course." His grim look was all the confirmation she probably needed, and she sighed with a regretful headshake. "The Twos always have been a bit obsessive."

"Obsessive? That's what you call it?" he scoffed.

"Le—" she broke off, then amend herself, "Mr. Adama, I don't know exactly what transpired between Leoben and Kara." His hands flexed out on the table between them and she hesitated before going on. "I'm sure it was ill-advised—"

"Try depraved," he interrupted, hands fisted now, and she inclined her head again in acknowledgment.

"Perhaps so. Leoben himself seemed to accept that he deserved punishment. Though I must say that I had expected it to be at Kara's hands rather than Sam's."

"What?"

"You don't know?" At his confused look, "Kara had mostly ignored Leoben until she'd thought he'd arranged the Fleet's power outage as an ambush," Ellen explained. "Then she lost it. Shot Leoben in the leg, and I was sure that she was going to kill him. Especially with D'Anna goading her on and Leoben all but begging for it." She paused in thought, gaze drifting away before coming back to his. "I'm not sure why she didn't. Maybe she'd come to believe that he regretted his actions. I really think he did."

"_Regretted?"_ Lee demanded incredulously. "That piece of crap put Kara through hell and you think he _regretted_ it?" He had to restrain the urge to lunge to his feet as anger knotted his muscles. Taking a breath, he unclenched his jaw enough to say, "And you think that makes a damned bit of difference?"

Ellen gave an uncomfortable shrug. "Perhaps to Kara. Afterall, she _didn't_ kill Leoben."

Lee closed his eyes, trying to rein back the fury that always accompanied the realization of how much Kara had suffered after he'd jumped the fleet away from New Caprica. Guilt definitely stoked the height of his rage. With another slow inhale, he damped down the anger as he tried to understand why Kara hadn't killed the Cylon when she'd had the chance. The Starbuck he knew never would have let anyone one else take the shot that was hers by right. What had changed?

All assuming that the skinjob across from him was telling the truth.

Scowling now at Ellen, he supposed it made sense for her to defend one of her own, yet listening to her try to excuse Leoben's behavior because he apparently felt remorse threatened Lee's uneven control. Resolutely turning his thoughts from the male Cylon and what he would have liked to do to him, he leaned forward.

"The Admiral said you wanted to offer an alliance," his voice cold, "so make your case before I recommend we airlock you all."

Ellen gave him a disapproving moue before shifting back to an all-business expression herself as she also sat forward.

"As I was trying to explain _before_, L—the Two had been fully briefed, whereas Sam, D'Anna and I only had time to be given the cursory details of the Alliance. That of the basic outline of the offer and the time and place of the rendezvous. I know that Natalie—the Six leading the rebel basestar—wanted a representative from each of the aligned models. She said that she would trust to Athena and Caprica to act for each of their line. And as for D'Anna, she's the only Three currently alive." Ellen shrugged. "I'm sure she also had hopes that Sam and I, and the three still within the Fleet, would go a ways towards forging the gulf between Human and Cylon."

Lee drummed his fingers twice as he studied her. "What? You believe that the revelation that there are—have been—sleeper agents in key positions is suppose to endear them to us?"

"You aren't listening, Lee." At the twitch in his cheek muscle, "Oh fine, _Mr. Adama_. They aren't sleeper agents. We five never have been. If anything, we're victims of the same ambitions as you." At his quirked eyebrow, "Cavil," an expectant pause, then, "The Ones." As he continued to look uncertain, "Well for godsakes, hasn't Kara told you _anything_!" she huffed.

Seeing his chance, "Pretend she hasn't," he said, figuring that it would give him the opportunity to compare Ellen's story with what Kara had shared with his father. Let the woman wonder and twist a little. It only seemed fair when she expected him to just discard his whole conception of who the enemy was.

He thought at first she was going to object, but then she sighed. "Of course. You're right. It's on us to prove ourselves," she said. Then she proceeded to lay out the history of the Cylons, from the first rebellion of man's creation to her awakening on the basestar. Her composure occasionally slipped as she spoke of hideous experiments, the development of Resurrection and Cavil's move against the Five. Throughout, Lee listened silently, cataloging questions for later. And though he maintained a mask of cynical disbelief, he still found himself caught up in the account of the Ones' machiavellian plans.

And here all along he'd been thinking that Leoben was the psychotic one of the bunch.

When Ellen had finally fallen silent, Lee settled against the seat back and crossed his arms and waited. She met his searching gaze calmly. Her eyes conveyed that it was his turn now and she was willing to sit here as long as necessary. He scrutinized her story, searching for the fallacies he was sure she'd woven in. The most glaring 'coincidence' to him was that she and Saul had somehow reunited despite their supposed memory wipe.

"So, let me get this straight," rising to face her across the table. "Cavil erases everything you know. Plants false memories and just drops the pair of you loose on Caprica?" At her nod, "And somehow, amongst the billions of people, the two of you not only meet, but actually get together again. All without any memory of the past?"

"I know it sounds unlikely," at his huff, "as _unlikely_ as it was, that's exactly what happened. We met at a bar." A fond smile crossed her face. "Saul was back under your father's command and I was…well, let's just say that I've always been drawn to a man in uniform."

"You just ran into each other at some officers' club?" Lee asked, tone still heavy with disbelief.

"Yes. Or at least I always thought so." Then settling back with her hands folded in her lap, "Maybe Cavil purposefully put us in the same area. It sounds like something he'd do just to play with us." With a thoughtful look now, "I wonder if it amused him that we connected all over again…or perhaps not. From a few things he'd said on the basestar, I have the feeling that he hadn't expected it. More likely that he'd planned to gloat as he watched us move within the same circle, unaware of how close the other was." She gave a sharp laugh. "How it must have frustrated him to no end when we married. He probably wondered if we were remembering things."

"And were you?"

"No. Not like you mean, that is." Her gaze became unfocused. "Though there was this instant connection in that bar. Saul felt it, too." Her lips quirked up. "And here I've always thought that it was his penchant for blondes. Looking back…maybe we really _were_ getting echoes of those suppressed memories."

"But neither of you knew that you were Cylons?" he prodded, hoping to trip her up while she seemed distracted. Her expression was still turned inward as she shook her head. Then she blinked and ran a finger along her lips.

"Nothing. Not until I resurrected," she added, attention fully back on him now as Lee rested his hands on the table and bent towards her.

"And the Colonel?" he intently asked.

"Resurrection appears to be the key," she said. "Sam remembers, but the past's still a complete blank to Saul and the others." At his skeptical look, "When has Saul ever given you reason to doubt his loyalty, to the Fleet or your father?" she demanded, irritation raising a pink hue in her cheeks at his continued distrust.

Lee held his position for another moment, meeting Ellen's unwavering regard. Then he turned and paced a circuit around the room, stopping behind his chair to grip its back.

"Say, for argument's sake, that we believe you," he said. "What does the Fleet get in return for siding with the rebels?" Ellen started to reply, but he cut her off. "We just want to be left alone and I it seems to me that we're better off letting you all just self-destruct."

"I can understand why you'd think that. But consider," her voice a warning, "you'd never know, not for sure, that Cavil won't survive. And if the Ones are victorious, I can guarantee you that they will never—_never_—stop hunting for this Fleet. Time might pass and you'll think you're safe, but he'll find you. And unlike on New Caprica, this time there won't be any moderating voices and humanity will cease to exist. You asked what the rebels—what _we_—can offer. We offer survival, Lee."

He didn't bother correcting her again as he weighed what she'd said. It was almost the same argument his father had given.

Which brought him full circle.

Sure, now he knew more about the evolution of the humanoid models and their apparent motivations, but it all came back to whether he could really trust that there were those that didn't want the destruction of the human race.

He just didn't know. Not yet.

Moving to the hatch, he ordered the waiting guards to escort the prisoner back to the holding cell and return with the next. As the Ellen rose at a Marine's commanding twitch of his rifle, Lee ignored the inquiring look she gave him. With a shrug, she shook out her hair and, with measured steps, proceeded the guard from the room.

* * *

A/N: Ok, so it's been a long number of months since my last post. Sorry about that. I needed a break and then found it incredibly difficult to get the words to start flowing again. Perhaps it's because this chapter is so heavy with exposition or is from Lee's POV. Whatever the reason, the majority of the delay hasn't been because I've not been working on it. I thank anyone that's still reading and hope to get back to a more timely posting schedule. That might be every two weeks or only once a month, just depends on how smoothly the words come.

PS: this particular chapter is totally unbetad. I just wanted to get it DONE and finally out there!


	129. Chapter 129 Three of Five B

Chapter 129 Three of Five

As the Marine hastened to meet Lee at the entrance to sickbay, his anxiety was evident when he started to snap out a salute only to hesitate and then let his hand fall, belatedly recalling the younger Adama's new status. In different circumstances, Lee might have found the man's flustered response amusing, but he had other concerns: like how one of his prisoners had come to be in sickbay. Or more accurately, _why she's here_, he grimly corrected himself.

When the guard he'd sent to escort D'Anna had returned with news that she was being examined by Cottle, Lee had come in person to find out what the hell was happening. The Admiral had assured him that no action would be taken against those in the Cylon holding cell until Lee had completed his interrogations and made a recommendation.

_If someone's decided to enact retribution Pegasus-style…_

The half-formed thought choked off any humor he might found in the Marine's discomfiture. Instead, he ignored the taller man, eyes seeking beyond for the missing prisoner.

Interpreting his searching gaze correctly, the guard started, "Uh, Sir, the skinjo—" only to falter when Lee's eyes snapped to his, "I mean, _the prisoner_, the Doc's got her in the private exam room," the man quickly said.

"Explain, Corporal," reading the man's name patch, "…Willis," Lee ordered.

"Uh, well, the prisoner," the close-cropped red head twitched in the direction of a door off to the side, "she was goading another prisoner, Sir. That C-Bucs fellow."

"Samuel Anders?"

A nod. "Yeah, him," the guard confirmed. Then, "The prisoner, the woman, just kept going on about… Well, she was saying things about Captain Thrace, Sir." At Lee's demanding look, the younger man swallowed, his eyes shifting away before reluctantly continuing. "She said that Starbuck liked it. Liked what that one she called Leoben did…" he faltered again, then finished in a rush, "what he did to her."

Lee froze, his blood chilled as what the Marine was trying to say became clear. He understood now. For whatever crazed reason the female Cylon had decided to taunt Anders with what had happened to Kara on New Caprica. Her visit to sickbay was the result. A certain grim satisfaction filled Lee from the knowledge that D'Anna had obviously gotten a little of what she'd deserved; though he did have to lock down the sudden hunger that he'd been the one to hand out the damage. A stab of jealousy also drove through Lee's chest when it hit that Anders was always getting the chance to strike out at those that had hurt Kara. His mind flipped back to when he'd prevented her from taking vengeance on the virus-infected prisoners—and for a moment Lee wished that he'd helped instead.

Giving himself a mental shake, he brought his attention back to the Marine.

"You'll keep what you heard to yourself, Corporal," he said, his tone warning of the dire consequences if Lee found out otherwise.

"Of course, Sir," Willis hastily replied, snapping up a salute without a second thought this time. "And I'll remind the others, too," he added with a grim look of his own.

Giving the freckled face a closer inspection, Lee finally realized why the guard looked vaguely familiar. This had to be Sunshine's brother. He'd actually forgotten that the nugget's last name was Willis,and now that he thought about it, he remembered occasionally seen the pair working out together in the gym. Knowing that the younger Viper pilot had a crush on Starbuck, it reassured him that the Marine wasn't likely to spread gossip when he'd not only face Lee's displeasure, but that of his brother's, too.

The sound of a door opening pulled his gaze to the side and he saw Cottle pause on the threshold as he spotted Lee.

"I suppose you're looking for my patient," the doctor matter-of-factly said, giving Lee a wave to enter.

Stepping forward, he swept the room with a cursory look, taking in the two alert guards where they were positioned in opposite corners, their firearms at the ready as they covered the figure prone on the examination table.

As his gaze settled on the woman, he noted that despite the IV attached to her arm she still wore the newly issued sweats rather than one of the hospital gowns, a clear sign that her injuries weren't life threatening. The bruising around her neck and face contrasted with the color of her grey top. Surveying her wounds, Lee vaguely recalled that she'd already had most of them when she'd disembarked from the Heavy Raider. It looked like Anders had _only_ tried to strangle her.

Turning to the doctor, "Her condition?" he asked in a neutral tone.

"Gonna live." But at Lee's reproving look, Cottle added, "Like I said, nothing that won't heal. She'll find it painful to speak and eat for awhile. Side effect of someone trying to throttle you."

"But she can talk?"

"Can? Sure." The elderly physician shrugged. "Will? That's your problem, Major."

Lee bit back the automatic correction, concluding that the doctor's mistake about his rank really didn't matter right now. He had more important matters than trying to update everyone on his new civilian status. Instead, "Does she need to stay in sickbay?" he asked.

"An hour or so to finish the electrolytes and then she's all yours." Cottle shifted to leave, but paused to add, "Can't say I'd put her with the others again. Not if you don't want her right back here."

Lee's eyes narrowed as he wondered how much the doctor knew about the circumstances of his patient's injuries. He gave a nod of understanding and turned away at the same time as he considered where to stow the difficult Cylon. Cottle was right though. She couldn't be returned to the specially built cell. So what were his alternatives?

_The brig then. Double the guards._

But even as the thought came to mind, Lee remembered that Kara was still confined in one of the unmodified neighboring cells—something that he'd have to rectify with his father as soon as he finished here, he decided. He wasn't about to put D'Anna in an adjoining one where she could harass Kara, and besides, it was ridiculous that Starbuck was in the brig at all.

Making a mental note to speak with his father next, Lee gave each guard a look which warned them to remain sharp while he cautiously approached the figure on the bed. His expression hardened as he read the contempt in the Three's face and realized that she obviously wasn't in a mood to be cooperative. Lee considered altering the order of his interviews to work them more effectively, but before he'd made up his mind, D'Anna abruptly swung her legs over the edge and sat up. The guards' reactions were nearly as quick, each advancing closer to maintain a clear line of fire even as their fingers tensed on the triggers.

Instinctively, Lee retreated a half step, but then waved for the Marines to back off when the woman didn't make any attempt to slide off the bed. He could clearly feel the guards' reluctance, yet didn't shift his attention from the Cylon. When her eyes flicked from one side to the other before coming back to his with the beginnings of a smirk in their depths, he knew the men had followed his order.

Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. "The suit's nice, but I like the towel-look better on you, Apollo."

"Lee will do," he stated.

"So…_Lee_, what now?" Her tone turned mocking. "A little good cop, bad cop? Thumbscrews? Perhaps the offer of an escort out the nearest airlock?" With palms on the edge of the bed, she leaned forward and gave him a suggestive perusal from head to toe. "Maybe we can find a common ground…or bed?"

Ignoring her baiting, "Let's start with why you're here," he said, purposely phrasing it for her to interpret as she wanted. The smirk on her lips faltered and Lee was surprised when she drew back, gaze sliding away.

"Why I'm here?" She abruptly sounded distant, "Because the universe likes a joke."

He studied her, perplexed by the sudden change. As her gaze met his again, Lee could swear that for a moment she looked lost, like she'd woken to find the world was filled with water and she had never learned to swim. But whatever he thought he'd glimpsed was quickly shuttered as her expression turned bitter.

"Cavil had the right of it, you know," she grimly said. "There is no God. All this," a twirl of her finger, "it's not some grand plan. And we aren't God's perfect creation."

"I never said you were."

"Caprica thought so," a pause, "or at least the other Sixes did." She cleared her throat and grimaced. "Don't suppose I could get some water?"

At first Lee was tempted to refuse, not really interested in extending any comfort to the enemy. But then reminding himself that he had a purpose here, he moved to the exam room's sink. A quick search yielded a metal cup and, after a quick rinse, he filled it before turning back to offer the water to D'Anna. She reached forward with a hand that shook slightly. Puzzled, his eyes darted to hers and he was startled to again see desolation in their depth. Then her expression hardened and she snatched the cup from his grasp. D'Anna avoided his scrutinizing gaze as she sipped and he kept silent until she held out the now empty glass.

"Better?"

A harsh laugh broke past her lips, which then immediately tightened into another grimace at the ill-advised action before she answered, "You really think a simple drink's gonna make anything better?"

"I'll see if the Doc can spare something for the pain."

"That's not what I meant," she snapped back, then her hand rose to her badly bruised throat and she added with less heat, "Fine."

Lee was tempted to rescind the offer, but decided to focus on D'Anna's earlier statement. The Three obviously had something driving her belligerent attitude. Having learned from Ellen of the 'boxing' of D'Anna's entire line, he supposed that could be the explanation for her behavior. Yet he had a feeling that there was more involved.

Deciding on the direct approach, "What happened to you?" he quietly asked and was rewarded with the startled look in her eyes as they met his.

As if having followed his previous line of thought, "Other than having me and all my sisters turned off like so many malfunctioning machines?" she replied, sounding bitter. He gave a nod. Her hard gaze held his for another moment before dropping. When she spoke again, he had to strain to hear her words. "How about learning that the 'sacred visions' you'd been having were no more than suppressed memories." She took a breath before continuing in a slightly louder voice. "Or that the Temple of Five wasn't a holy place prepared by some divine beings or even by the missing Five. No. Just a group of idiot human scientists that wanted to leave a stupid message for anyone that came after." Lee saw that her eyes glinted with moisture as she lifted her head and angrily repeated, "Idiots!"

He was perplexed by her words. She almost seemed…disillusioned? As though everything she'd believed in had proved a sham. Again Lee wondered what the Cylons were thinking in sending D'Anna as part of the parlay team. She certainly wasn't helping make their case for joining with the rebels. Yet, even as that thought occurred, a memory surfaced of the Chief standing over Baltar's unconscious form while a Three lay dead slightly off to the side. Thinking back, he realized that the position of the skinjob's body was as though she'd been pulled or pushed clear of the circular etching on the temple floor. The one the ex-President had been standing upon when they'd captured him. Had D'Anna seen something Galen had missed? A darker suspicion rose as he wondered if the man had purposefully covered up whatever secrets the temple had held.

_No._ Lee remembered how frustrated the Chief had been at not being able to decipher the mystery of the Eye of Jupiter, and besides, Cally had been with him the entire time.

Yet here D'Anna sat, possibly the same Three he'd seen dead from no visible cause, claiming to have accessed a communication from the temple's creators.

He needed to find out what she knew.

Spotting the stool Cottle used during exams, Lee rolled it over and took a seat, noticing the woman's eyebrows rise questioningly.

"You said they were human scientists. How do you know?"

It appeared at first that she might not to deign to answer. But then she shifted forward on her palms again and said, "Because they prattled on about it. How they'd concluded that pure science was the answer to all of their society's woes." Distaste thinned her lips. "I leave ramblings about the five states of matter to the Fours who care."

"Pretend I care," he ordered.

She gave him a sullen look, but then raised her hand and folded a finger down as she reeled each off, "Solid, liquid, gas, plasma and…" finally with only the middle finger still extended, "…antimatter." She smirked, her satisfaction reminiscent of a certain viper pilot. Lee worked to keep his thoughts from straying to the figure sleeping in the brig as he tried to grasp why what she'd disclosed had seemed to upset D'Anna so much.

"Ok, nothing that a Colonial fifth grader wouldn't know, soooo…?" he prompted.

"So?" Her breathing quickened. "So, I was suppose to find answers. Learn what lies in the space between life and death… Know the face of God." The sneer in her tone didn't seem aimed at Lee. "Guess I'm the fool here."

"Maybe not."

This time her scorn was all for him. "What would you know of faith." She gave him a derisive look. "You're like _them_, the _Thirteenth Tribe_. Like Cavil. For all the Ones spouting of God's Plan, they never really believed in anything but themselves." Again her disgust seemed to turn inward as she bit out, "But I believed."

And there it was.

The fact that D'Anna seemed to have lost her faith at the very time that he'd found his, struck Lee as ironic. But what was he to do with this new understanding of the Three? History books were riddled with the chaos left in the wake of such disillusionment…and that was the last thing the Colonials dared risk. Deciding that whatever he recommended to the Admiral and President, it wasn't going to entail trusting D'Anna.

Keeping his thoughts from his expression, Lee asked, "You said there was a message. What sort of one?"

"That relying on _nonexistent_ deities leads to war. And they blathered on about how they'd decided to only look to the physical world from then on." Her hazel eyes were still unfocused as she continued, "They berated the 'old ways'…and anyone ignorant enough to follow them."

Truthfully, it wasn't long ago that Lee would have held the same opinion. Yet so much in the past couple of years had happened that he just couldn't disregard it all. He might refuse to accept that the gods had planned each person's life from beginning to end, but that didn't mean he had remained blind to moments when there had seemed a greater power giving nudges in a certain direction. What were the odds of Starbuck not only returning with the Arrow of Apollo, but that they'd then be able to actually find the lost Tomb of Athena? He was willing to concede that _what_ he, Kara, Laura and his father had seen within was somehow a projection, yet their mere presence in the chamber could be deemed a miracle.

And Kara's repeated survival seemed another.

No one had _that_ much luck. And while he never doubted either Kara's skill or determination, surely there was more at work guiding her back time after time.

Everything pulled his thoughts towards the woman he'd left resting two levels below. He could acknowledge that one of the reasons was that he desperately wanted to be by her side. But it also seemed that each of the interrogations eventually came back to Kara in unpredictable ways. In his mind's eye, Lee could see the circles-within-circles pattern on the temple floor as he replayed his father's version of how Kara had found various forms of the same pattern recurring throughout her life, finally culminating in the mandala within the radiation storm. The one that had irresistibly drawn her in.

Lee rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling the upsurge of a headache forming. Lack of sleep was be playing havoc with his ability to concentrate, but he knew there were still four more interviews to complete before he could rest. Wanting to be done with this one, he pushed aside _why_ the Three's experience had left her embittered, to focus instead on what she'd actually seen.

"These scientists, describe them," he ordered.

"Human," her expression soured as she spat the word out.

"And," he calmly prompted, refusing to be baited by her curt answer.

"Annnnnd…" she mocked, then, with a half shrug, grudgingly relented, "and there were three human females and two males. Older sorts. What you'd expect of professor types."

"So these five's purpose was to what? Warn against following false gods?" he asked, coming back to her earlier explanation. "Why go through all the trouble of building an elaborate temple just to leave a message like that?"

"Why ask me?" she countered, then at his sardonic frown, "Fine. Don't get your towel in a bunch," she said. "Maybe they knew more would follow after. They'd said they'd found," holding up quote-fingers for emphasis, "_a way to a better life_." With a dismissive hitch of one shoulder, "My guess was they were off to build some great Utopia, and it certainly wasn't gonna be on _that_ planet."

Lee had to agree that that biosphere wouldn't have been able supported a growing civilization. It had been even less hospitable than New Caprica. At least the later planet on which the Fleet had harvested algae had had an environment conducive to crops though the waters had all tested toxic to humans. As it was, only through extensive processing were they able to use the algae at all.

Coming back to what the Three had said, Lee considered what the message had meant by 'a way_'_. Had they only been speaking of a new social order or of something else? Shelving the thought for later, he stood.

"You'll stay here under guard while I arrange other…accommodations." Then, with a meaningful glance at the on-edge Marines, "Give my men any problems and your next room will have an open exit into space."

At her acerbic look, Lee knew she'd understood.

It was time to see his father.

[ ]

Sometime later, Lee made his way towards the brig once again, he felt like he'd been going back and forth from the detention area for days now instead of the ten hours it had actually been since he'd first followed the Colonel to the detention level. The fact that Saul Tigh now _occupied_ one of Galactica's cells still seemed incomprehensible to Lee.

As he walked, he ignored the nods of passing crewmembers, musing on what he'd learned from his debrief of the President's Aide and Galen. Both had related the same tale of how the Chief had been supposedly 'scanned' by a Cylon Raider on his ascent from the algae planet, and how hours later he'd experienced some kind of psychic awakening. Neither understood how he'd then triggered in Tory and Tigh the same awareness of their Cylon nature. Throughout, Tyrol had continued to insist that the three of them with the fleet didn't remember any of their past lives. That, despite their new knowledge of _what_ they actually were, they still considered themselves to be the persons they'd always been with the same allegiances. Sitting across from this man he'd come to know and respect, it had been difficult for him to envision the Chief ever siding with Galactica's enemies.

As Lee grasped the side railings and stumped down the stairs to D deck, his thoughts turned from Galen and Tory to his confrontation with his father over Kara. On leaving the Three under close guard in sickbay, he'd again sought out the Admiral, this time finding him in the CIC's war room informing Captain Agathon that he was acting-XO once more. Lee had been surprised at how unsettled the younger man looked when he'd interrupted the pair; so little ever seemed to rattle Agathon. Then again, it wasn't often that you found out that your commander had lied to you about the parameters of a mission; that people you'd known for years were apparently enemy agents, and then on top of it all, received a promotion to that of second highest position within the Fleet. The man would have had to have been a machine not to have been shaken at least a little. Any humor Lee might have felt at that thought had been immediately snuffed when he had reminded himself why he'd faced his father across the battlestar's strategy board instead of completing the remaining four interrogations still left to do.

Displeasure had tightened the older Adama's expression as soon as Lee had entered. At his father's gruff, "Can it wait?", that had followed, Lee had shaken his head but stayed silent, watching the Admiral weigh his unspoken demand against whatever he had yet to discuss with his new next in command. Finally he'd dismissed Agathon with instructions to get up to speed on his additional duties and turned to Lee as the hatch again closed them off from the rest of CIC.

"It's about Kara," Lee had quickly said, not wanting the Admiral to take control of the conversation.

"Isn't it always?" his father had practically growled, but then had shaken his head, a hand coming up to halt Lee's protest before he could even voice it. "No. Don't bother. Starbuck didn't make Saul a—a Cylon," his hesitation made it clear that he was still coming to grips with this truth.

"Then why's she still in lockup?" he'd demanded.

The Admiral's gaze had dropped then, away from his, and with a hand spotted with age, had reached out to lift a model Viper from its place on the table. Lee had known to wait, stamping down the impatience that urged him to push; instead, he had watched his father brush the small replica with a finger crooked with arthritis.

"Wonder if he's ever even been in a cockpit," his father had murmured, and Lee had known whom he meant. A shrug was all the answer he could provide when clouded blue eyes had lifted to his. How much of Saul's background was faked was hard to say. He supposed that closer questioning of Ellen might clarify some of it, yet, according to her, even she didn't know all of her husband's journey after he'd been planted on Caprica by Cavil. He briefly wondered if Saul himself would be able to differentiate between false memories and fact.

"I'll ask him," he'd said. Lee had then seen his father struggle to pull himself free of the quagmire of his thoughts and refocus on the duties before him.

"What have you learned?"

"I've still to—to debrief him, Sir." And at the Admiral's questioning look, "I've already spoken with most of them and I'll head back to finish up once we're done here."

"Then why—?"

"You need to release Kara," he'd cut in, then quickly gone on to explain, "For D'Anna's own protection, I've had to separate her from the others. I'm moving her to the brig under double guard."

"What's that to do with Starbuck?" the Admiral challenged and Lee had given him an incredulous look.

"It's the same Three. It's…she's _D'Anna_."

It still had taken the older man a moment to understand the significance of the Cylon's identity, and then his expression had darkened even as the wing of the model he'd held had snapped off in his tightening grip. His father's reaction had assuaged some of Lee's anger on Kara's behalf. He had wondered how much his dad had been told about her imprisonment on New Caprica, now Lee knew he was obviously aware of D'Anna's involvement at least.

"Do they even _want_ an alliance!?"

The Admiral's terse words had echoed Lee's own earlier thoughts about which Cylons had been sent as representatives. He'd had time since to come to the conclusion that the rebels hadn't grasped the flaw in their choices; it just showed that they still didn't understand how the experiences of one individual could impact so many others.

"I don't think they had much time to consider how we'd react." Lee had moved to the edge of the table and given a wave at the Cylon models scattered across its surface. "From what Kara described, the rebels were surprised by the others' move against them. They're disorganized…desperate…and that gives us the advantage."

"So you're recommending we send a negotiating team to this rendezvous?"

"I don't know yet. I've still to meet with Saul, Sam, Galen and Tory Foster."

"Well then—"

Again he had interrupted, "They're next, but first I want Kara safe."

"Agreed," his father had said. "I won't have her within reach of any of them." He'd paused, "But we don't know her mental state. Before—" Lee had shaken his head, halting his father's wary concerns.

"It's different this time. I'm—_we're—_here for her," he'd said, and seen shame drop the older Adama's gaze. Had it been for his dad's prior actions…or a more recent harm he'd done to Kara? Again, on recalling her swollen lip, Lee had had to bite back a harsh accusation. Off a deep breath, "For now, give her my quarters. I'll bunk in the CAG's office," he'd said instead.

"And Showboat…?"

For a second, Lee hadn't understand the Admiral's question, then he'd kicked himself. With the former Pegasus pilot's promotion to CAG in his place, the office would by rights be hers. Ruefully, Lee realized that he hadn't considered quite all of the implications of his new position, including exactly where he'd live from now on, just assuming that his quarters would still be _his._ His chagrin must have shown for the corners of his dad's lips had twitched up with a flicker of humor that had loosened the heavily lined face.

"I hear there's a rack or two open in the enlisted crews' quarters," the Admiral had said. Lee had given him a cautious look, suspecting that his father was censuring him for his refusal of the XO's post. Yet, when he met those familiar eyes, there was no rebuke in their depths.

"That'll be fine, Sir," he'd replied. Then shifting back to his original concern. "…and Kara?"

"As you suggested," then with a finger raised in warning, "on the condition that Sergeant Mathias act as her escort," the Admiral had added. Lee had stiffened, worried at how Kara would react to having a guard assigned again. When he'd started to protest, "It's not open for discussion," Adama had firmly stated, and Lee had given an unwilling nod in acknowledgement.

With that settled, Lee had headed back towards the detention section of the massive ship. Now, as he turned aft along D deck, he rubbed at the back of his neck, the tension increasing the throb of his earlier headache. There was still so much he had yet to do. He grimaced, knowing that his first priority ought to be completing the interviews with Tigh and Anders, but his feet carried him inexorably onward to where he'd left Kara sleeping.

_Once she's settled in my…in her new quarters, I'll finish the others_.

Recognizing that his desire to check on Kara was only part of his reason for his delay, Lee acknowledged to himself that he wasn't looking forward to the remaining two debriefs. Questioning his father's long time friend would be difficult enough, but it was going to be nearly worse confronting Kara's husband…ex-husband.

Lee ground his teeth at the thought of confronting Anders again. Reminding himself that he had remain objective, had to listen to what Anders had to say and not let his own feelings bias his report, Lee knew that it was going to be far easier said than done. There was no denying that in the year he'd spent above New Caprica, his jealousy had distilled into a vindictiveness that even news of the other man's death had barely dissipated.

And now that he was revealed as a Cylon…

Shaking out his hands, Lee forced his steps forward again from where he had unconsciously halted and gathered the scattering thoughts back to the crux of the interrogations. Could he really trust that these five models were any different than Boomer? Believe that they were the victims of some Cylon coup as Ellen had stated? On his recommendation, the Admiral was willing to either accept or refuse the Alliance proposal. Abruptly, that responsibility felt like a crushing weight and he stumbled into a passing crewman.

"Careful there, Sir." And as a hand steadied him, Lee looked up to see Lieutenant Gaeta regarding him with a less-than-friendly expression before the man masked his dislike. It didn't take much of a leap to guess that the CIC officer blamed Lee for Baltar's acquittal. And if Gauis was to be believed, Gaeta had been so determined to obtain a guilty verdict that he had perjured himself; something that Lee would never have believed possible of the idealistic young man he'd first come to know during his stints in CIC.

Lee had read about how war changed people; he just never really understood until he'd experienced it first hand how it could undermine even a person's core principles.

Giving the officer a nod, "Thanks, Lieutenant," he neutrally responded and stepped free of the other's hold. When the navigation specialist didn't move on, "Was there something you wanted?" he asked.

"What I want—" the darker man broke off, looking away as pain tightened his face. "What I _want_ is my family back. For the Cylons to have never destroyed the Colonies. Can you arrange that, _Sir_."

Levelly meeting the belligerent gaze as it swung back to his, "All of us wish that, Gaeta. But it did. We survived and if we _want_ to continue to survive, we have to hold it together."

Gaeta gave him an incredulous look. "Hold it together?" He choked back a harsh laugh. "Hold it together. Right…right, what with half the senior staff skinjobs, and that—that _traitor_ allowed to walk free?" The lieutenant didn't bother to hide his derision now as his gaze raked over Lee's civilian outfit. "You don't give me orders anymore, Adama."

"I may have resigned my commission, _Lieutenant_," using his CAG voice now, "but I still have the _Admiral's_ authority to command Galactica's personnel as I see fit."

Gaeta seemed unmoved by the reprimand. In fact, he shifted forward a step. "Of course you do…_Sir_," his tone insolent. "How could I forget that the rules don't apply to Apollo and Starbuck. It's like you said on the stand, you're forgiven all; even getting that bastard off. And as for Starbuck," Lee stiffened at the sneer in his tone, "she can try to airlock me as a collaborator, but no one says a thing when she comes back all buddy-buddy with a load of skinjobs."

At his side, Lee's hands fisted. Fighting down the urge to strike the scornful expression from the other man's face, Lee reminded himself that Gaeta didn't know what Kara had suffered at the Cylons' hands. Most of the crew had only rumors and Starbuck's erratic behavior to base their conclusion on, so it shouldn't surprise him that there were those that saw the special treatment she'd received as simple favoritism. It didn't help that the CIC officer was close friends with Dee. He probably—rightfully even—blamed Lee for hurting Dualla.

With these mitigating thoughts in mind, "Back off, Lieutenant. You don't have a clue what you're talking about," he said firmly.

Gaeta seemed about to say something further, but his eyes shifted down the corridor as another crewmember rounded the corner. Without another word, the specialist turned and stalked away.

Lee watched him go then twisted and, sparing a brief greeting to the passing noncom, proceeded towards the brig.


	130. Chapter 130 Paths Collide

Chapter 130 Paths Collide

Kara jerked up, sleep-dazed eyes trying to make sense of her surroundings. She'd been in a great chamber: vaulted ceiling slopping away, walls a mix of natural rock and dark metal and there had been an unnatural light that had left her squinting still, even as her mind tried to reconcile the fading image with the bars that closed in about her.

The sound of a hatch closing snapped her fully into the present and she recognized Galactica's brig.

Swinging her legs around to the edge of the bunk, Kara ignored the two figures beyond her cell door. With her head in her hands, she sought to hold onto the fragments of the dream that had been a reoccurring theme since she'd boarded the Heavy Raider. Yet, try as she might, only the impression of the vastness of the cavern and of small hands clasping her neck remained. The fear that she really didn't _want_ to remember more sent a tremble along her limbs, and she instinctively shoved the uneasy images aside.

The scrape of a key in the lock pulled her head up. Lee entered even as she saw the guard lift the handset, and Kara ideally wondered if the man was calling the Old Man to confirm her right to have visitors. She stood and was relieved at how steady she felt now. How long had she slept? A frown firmed her lips as a sense of time slipping away twisted her stomach.

_Gotta go back. I know I can find it again if only he'll let— _

Her building agitation was interrupted as Lee stepped close.

"You look better."

Searching the familiar face for hints of what had passed while she'd slept, Kara noticed that the _he_ was definitely looking worse for wear.

"Well, you look like crap, Maj—" she started, then broke off when the dress shirt and slacks he wore finally registered. Thinking back, she recalled him in a jocksmock in the hanger bay, but at some point he had changed into this civilian outfit before she'd reported to the Admiral's quarters. With everything else going on then, she'd been too distracted to comment at the time, but now all sorts of questions leapt to mind.

Warily now, "What's with the civies?" she asked. Emotions flicker across his face too quickly for her to name. Ok, now she really was concerned. "What the frak did you do, Lee?"

"I resigned." At her incredulous look, "I'm the official liaison between Galactica, the Fleet and the Cylons."

"So? You done that before. Doesn't mean you quit the Service," she said, her confusion evident in her expression.

"And before that nearly earned me a court martial, Kara," he grimly reminded her.

"Frak that, Lee!" She was starting to get pissed now. Here she was trying to get them all to Earth, and Lee was whining about the past and apparently bailing on the Fleet just when she needed his support. Her eyes narrowed as she snidely said, "You don't have to quit. Just don't shove a gun at the frakkin' XO this time!"

"I might have to."

"What?" Then her brow canted up in understanding. "The Colonel?"

"In the Cylon holding cell with the others. The Chief and Tory Foster, too," his clipped reply.

"The Admiral believed me then," she murmured, some of the sting in her torn lip and heart easing at the thought that the Old Man had taken action on her words. Maybe that meant he'd reconsidered her request for a Raptor, too. Her attention was pulled back to Lee as he shook his head.

"Tigh confessed," Lee said. "He went to my dad and told him about himself and the other two."

_Right... He didn't believe me at all. Probably figured I was frakked in the head again._

As bitter disappointment drove her thoughts, Kara turned away to put some distance between her and Lee. But then, as the ramifications of what the loss of the XO meant, she twisted to face him again.

"All the more reason for you not to quit," she said, her tone accusing as she coldly eyed Lee.

"It's not quitting."

"Like hell it's not!"

She could read the growing anger in Lee's tensing shoulders as he began to snap out a cutting response, but then he instead paused and shook his head.

"No, Kara. I'm not doing this with you."

_What the frak? What did he mean by that? Do what? _

"Look. A lot has happened and I need to catch you up. So can we just…" the look he gave her now was imploring, "…just talk. Not argue for a change."

She was taken aback. Lee thought they were arguing? Why? All she'd said— Kara's gaze slid away as she shifted uncomfortably. Ok. So they had been. She had. What did he expect of her, stuck here when she should be out searching for the way to Earth again.

As she guiltily met his gaze this time, she felt pulled into their depths, the sensation eerily like what she'd experienced when faced with the reality of her childhood visions. On a breath, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and swallowed. There was too much to do. Still so much to deal with before she could even consider how at this moment she wanted so very badly to step into Lee's arms and feel them close about her.

And there was Sam.

Sam the Cylon.

Abruptly she felt the urge to laugh and her snort sounded overly loud in the quiet of the brig.

_Gods! Do I know how to pick 'em!_

Waving a hand at Lee's perplexed look as she continued to chortle, Kara realized that _what_ Sam was didn't really bother her anymore. Somehow, accepting the truth of her feelings for the man she'd married and the reasons for that marriage had eased the twisted knot in her heart. She'd made a decision that no matter what happened, her future wasn't with Sam. In many ways it was like that New Caprican morning when the Colonel had suggested that she decide on a direction and then stick to it. Only that time, she had been basing her course on avoidance. So much since had changed how she dealt with those internal fears. For one thing, she had vowed that she was done with running. That much at least she had gained from her ordeals she told herself.

"Kara?"

"Sorry, just—" another amused snort, "just give me a sec." Again she waved Lee away when he would've grasped her shoulders. Finally she stood with her arms loosely crossed and took internal stock. The stress-induced irritation had completely fled and she felt ready to deal not just with Lee, but with whatever had been going on during her confinement.

"Are you Ok?" he hesitantly asked, concern drawing his brows down.

"Getting there, I think." And for a moment it felt true. But then the image of Leoben's final death splashed across her memory and she flinched, retreating a step in reaction.

"Hey?"

Blinking several times, she sought Lee's steadying gaze and lifted her chin.

"So if you're a flyboy no more, tell me what new tune this job's got you dancing to?" she hurriedly said, mentally grounding herself with his presence. Kara could read the indecision in his look as he debated whether to press…or take her cue to let it go. Thankfully he chose the later and filled her in on the arrest of the three revealed Cylons, the Admiral's confession to the Raptor pilots and his own interrogations up to that point.

"I've just got two to finish now."

Knowing which pair he still had to debrief, Kara said, "I want to be there." She could read the instant refusal in his face and hurried on. "You need me. I'll know if Sam's lying," but even as she spoke, the reality that he'd been a Cylon all along and she'd never suspected it tightened her throat. Sam might insist that he didn't discover his nature until recently, but a part of Kara whispered that she should have guessed—there had to have been signs. Swallowing against the restriction, "I can help," she said

Lee ran an agitated hand through his hair before finally answering, "No, Kara."

"Lee, I—"

"You're too much of a distraction."

"That's a good thing," she impatiently said, moving closer. "Keep him off balance."

"For me." A hand rose to lightly brush a straying wisp of hair from her eyes. "Too much of a distraction for me, Kara," he said as his hand came to rest on her shoulder where it sloped into her neck. He gave a gentle squeeze.

She didn't move away, but searched his face for any hint of an ulterior motive for his refusal. Was this just some excuse because he didn't trust her? She'd certainly got enough of that from the Admiral and Roslin. Yet nothing in Lee's open expression hinted at that; instead, what she saw spread a tingling warmth along her skin and she suddenly found it difficult to hold his gaze. Unsettled, she shifted from under his palm and tried to ignore the flash of disappointment in his eyes at her withdrawal.

"Fine. Whatever," she said, her hands coming to her hips. "So, I'm stuck in here until when?"

As the hatch clacked open behind him, Lee glanced back and she saw Mathias step over the brig's threshold. The woman was trying to stifle a yawn as she gave a brief nod to the duty guard as she stopped in front of the cell.

"Seriously, Lee?" demanded Kara as the reason for the female Marine's presence sunk in.

"Admiral's order." He gave her an apologetic look. "You're released into the Sergeant's charge."

Kara's temper ignited again at this new proof of the senior Adama's mistrust. Shifting her glare to the man before her. "What the frak more does he want, Lee? You said the Colonel confessed. Backed my story. So why the hell do I need a babysitter again!"

"It's just temporary." He turned his palms over in a placating gesture. "Just until things settle out between the Fleet and the Cylons." Then abruptly realizing how what he'd said sounded, "The rebels. I mean the rebels, Kara," he quickly corrected. "just until we can figure out if this alliance offer of theirs is genuine."

She let her gaze flick from Lee to Mathias and wondered what the Sergeant thought about having to resume the chore of acting as Kara's handler. The other woman met her look stoically, an attitude that seemed to be her default. Grinding her teeth, Kara supposed that it was better than being stuck in the brig. At least this way she could seek out the President and get her take on what was happening. Maybe even get her to pressure the Admiral to give the go-ahead for a return trip to the algae planet.

Thoughts of Laura led Kara back to her own confusing reactions to Leoben and her gaze slid guiltily away from the pair's scrutiny.

"So, what's the plan?" she stiltedly asked. "Do I get my old rack back or sleep here?" Kara was sardonically certain that she wasn't going to be offered the Admiral's couch this time.

"Neither. I thought it'd be best for you to bunk in my quarters." As her eyebrows shot up, "I'll sleep elsewhere," Lee hastily added.

"You don't have to do that," she said, though, for a moment she envisioned sharing his double-sized rack and could feel a flush heat her skin. She hoped it didn't make it to her face. "I can crash here," she clarified. Was there a touch of color along his neck, too? Before she could pursue that thought, he spoke.

"You can't. We need the space." Her questioning look demanded an explanation. On a sigh, "I'm putting D'Anna in here," he said. When she gave a sharp bark of laughter, he twitched in surprise.

"She not playing well with others again?"

"Got it in one." He grinned in relief at her reaction. "I thought a timeout was in order."

Her expression sobered. "You're right then. Probably best I be elsewhere."

"I'm right?" he prompted, and Kara felt her lips curve up at his teasing tone.

"It had to happen eventually, Lee," she quipped back, the familiar banter chasing away the shadows that thoughts of the Three had cast. "So, you posting my bail or what?"

"You're in luck, they took an IOU, so consider yourself sprung." He signaled for Mathias to open the door and Kara sauntered through ahead of him.

"Breakfast, Captain?"

At Mathias' suggestion, Kara glanced back to Lee. His brief reply of "Can't" reminded her that he was off to meet with the Colonel and Sam. He gave her an awkward smile and turned down the side corridor. For a moment she was tempted to follow. Instead, with a grimace, she led her Marine shadow off in the direction of the mess.

[ ]

After finishing her first meal of the processed algae—_Ugh, that stuff was foul!—_Kara resolutely set her steps towards sickbay. Considering how uneasily the mash sat in her stomach, she wouldn't have been surprised if the others from the mess followed her down. As amusing as the image was of Cottle trying to deal with the crowd, it couldn't distract her long from the real purpose of her destination.

She'd learned from Mathias that Laura Roslin was in sickbay. It didn't take much to get out of the Sergeant a guess as to why. Apparently news that the President's cancer had returned had swept across the fleet even ahead of Baltar's 'not guilty' verdict.

Now Kara wondered if the gods had thrust the role of dying leader upon Laura once more. And if so, how much time did she have? Surely the President would have to see now that it was imperative for Kara to begin her search as soon as possible. With these thoughts spurring her on, Kara increased her pace.

A quick survey of the visible beds didn't reveal the auburn-haired woman. Realizing that, of course, the Doc would provide the President with what privacy was available, Kara headed toward the isolation units and spotted a cubicle with its curtains pulled shut.

She paused, trying to decide how to announce herself.

"Captain, are you certain you should disturb the President?" The quietly spoken question from behind her reminded Kara of her escort's presence.

Before she could answer, "Speak up," came a slightly querulous order from beyond the plastic and blue folds shielding the occupant.

With a shrug for the Sergeant's concern, Kara said, "Are you decent?" and grinned as Mathias rolled her eyes in exasperation at her charge's lack of proper decorum.

"In a manner, but if that's you, Captain Thrace, you may enter," the now amused voice responded, and Kara parted the protective sheeting to step within the niche of seclusion they'd created.

She didn't notice Mathias slide through behind and draw the coverings closed again. Her gaze was fixated on the woman in the bed and the lines of IVs and monitors attached here and there. Her chest tightened and it was suddenly difficult to breathe.

Blinking, Kara realized that Laura had been calling her name repeatedly and she drew an unsteady breath.

"Kara?"

At the rising concern in Laura's voice, Kara shook off the visions of what her mother's last days must have been.

"Sorry." Her apology sounded distant to her own ears. Meeting Laura's worried look, she berated herself for the lapse and gave the woman a tight smile before saying, "You been missing Cottle's bedside manner that much or just hoping they feed the patients _real_ food here?"

Laura looked perplexed for a moment then tilted her head slightly. "That's right. You disappeared before the harvest," she murmured. Then the look she gave Kara turned speculative. "There are some inconsistencies in your story, Captain. I'd like to address those."

"Inconsistencies, Madam President?" Kara warily asked.

"Specifically the timeline." At Kara's uncertain expression, "You claim that you went from the radiation storm to Earth, then back and finally jumped after the Fleet to the rendezvous point over the algae planet. And you say that we were gone when you arrived; the Cylons having driven us away." At Roslin's pause, Kara nodded, wondering what the woman was getting at. Her confusion grew as Laura continued. "And to you, this only took hours."

"Some six and change," she confirmed.

"You were missing close to a week, Captain, _before_ the Cylons arrived."

"A week? No, I—"

"More precisely, four days," stated Laura firmly. "We'd just completed the harvest when the basestars jumped in."

_Four days…_

_No. It wasn't possible. _

Kara remembered checking the Raptor's clock when she'd woken after her first trip through the mandala. She'd only been unconscious for some two hours, and though the following time was hazy in her memory, she was sure that her survey of Earth's system hadn't taken more than three or four additional hours. And she certainly hadn't spent but moments back in the radiation storm or her wrist badge would've been red…and she wouldn't be standing here now.

No. For some reason the President was lying. She had to be.

Kara twisted to face Mathias to demand that the Sergeant account for what really had happened, but, at the Marine's confirming nod, a wave of vertigo had Kara reaching for the bed's foot railing. A steadying hand lightly grasped her elbow.

What the frak was going on? Why were they lying to her? And they had to be, for if they weren't...

Shaking loose of the contact, Kara backed away, her suspicious glare flitting between the figure on the bed and Mathias. When her retreat was impeded by the flimsy barrier of fabric, she halted but continued to glower at the pair.

"You really don't remember." Laura's statement brought Kara's eyes to her. "What did they do to you, Kara?"

She was about to snap out an accusation when Mathias spoke.

"We had a memorial service for you."

As the words registered, Kara shivered. A memorial service. That meant that they'd been certain she had died. And more importantly, it made her realize that they couldn't possibly have convinced Galactica's entire population to support their story. Even if she chose not to believe the Sergeant, all she had to do was question others among the crew or in Dogsville. Someone would let something slip. There was no way—unless what Roslin said was the truth.

Four days.

Kara crossed her arms, hunching in on herself as she raked through mental images. Could she be wrong? Had Leoben found her before she had jumped back to the Fleet? She'd lost time on the basestar while recovering from the effects of the stims and radiation, but she'd been sure that she'd been captured _after_ ditching on the algae planet.

Then a memory filled her senses: that of falling from the Raptor's wing to the hard ground below and a jarring impact, of coughing as she choked on swirling dust and the violent retching that followed after. She remembered crawling into the shade cast by the shuttle before finally collapsing. Though hazy, the sensory details seemed so real. Could the Cylons have possibly implanted it all in her mind? And if they had, how was she to separate reality from whatever they'd _programmed_ her to believe?

Harsh breathing filled her ears and it took a moment to recognize it as her own.

"I-I-I don't…" she began, then trailed off. If what she thought she knew wasn't to be trusted, then what now? Was _Earth_ even real? Maybe the Cylons _had_ caught up with her in the radiation storm and there never had been a mandala at all. Could they have found a way to rape her obsessive fascination of the motif and twisted it into a false trail meant to lead the remainder of the human race into an ambush? But if it had all been a setup then bastards should have attacked when the Fleet's power had gone down. She grudgingly supposed that if the Cylons hadn't been responsible for the weird outage then they might not have been prepared to take advantage when it happened. Was it possible that the disruption had been just a naturally occurring phenomenon?

No closer to any answers and with these new doubts mocking her, Kara lifted a troubled gaze to Laura's appraising one. "I don't know," she repeated and watched older woman purse her lips in thought. As Roslin shifted, trying to sit up further, Kara resisted the impulse to assist her.

_What if I'm programmed to kill her..._

The idea that she could be a threat to the President, that she might have some subconscious instructions to shoot her, rooted Kara in place. Forcing her limbs to unclench, she reminded herself that she wasn't Boomer, that she wasn't some windup Cylon toy. But she still held to her spot and uneasily watched as Mathias moved to trigger the bed's controls, raising the head until Roslin waved for her to stop at the desired height.

During the distraction, Kara gave the President an assessing scan of her own. Despite all the medical paraphernalia, the woman didn't really _look_ ill. Maybe Cottle had caught it early enough to treat this time. She wondered if she dared ask. Before she could decide, Laura's attention had shifted back to her.

"Let's go over what you remember, Kara."

She worried her lower lip before taking a breath and related again everything she could recall up to the last jump to the Ionian Nebula. Laura occasionally asked for clarifying details, but otherwise kept remarkable quiet throughout; her expression too closed off for Kara to read.

"We jumped to the Ionian Nebula. I hoped to either get there ahead of the Fleet or find some indication of where the Admiral might've gone next," Kara said, then fell silent, watching for Roslin's reaction. The woman pursed her lips again as she lightly tapped one finger in thought.

"When did you kill Leoben?"

The question caught her off-guard. It shouldn't have she supposed, but she had been so focused on trying to determine if any of her memories seemed like they might have been altered that she'd avoided thoughts of the Two…and what had happened on the Cylon shuttle. As his name dropped into the space between them, Kara flinched.

"When?" Laura pressed.

"I didn't," she admitted finally, her gaze sliding away. She couldn't meet Laura's anymore as the moments in the Raider played again through her mind. Why hadn't she shot Leoben? The remembered feel of the pistol in her damp palm still mocked her. If she needed proof that the Cylons had frakked with her head, surely her not pulling the trigger and finishing him was enough. Her gut clenched and nausea brought the taste of bile to the back of her throat.

"You didn't? You mean you didn't kill him?" At Kara's jerky nod, still refusing to lift her gaze, Laura asked the obvious follow up, "Then who did?" only to immediately answer it herself, "Sam?" Kara's silence seemed confirmation enough, for Laura said instead, "But you wanted to," as if that, too, were a foregone conclusion.

This time some of the conflicting emotions that churned within her must have been visible, for Laura abruptly flipped the blanket aside and slid to the edge of the bed. Startled, Kara's head came up and she found her eyes held by brown ones that dared her to look away. She swallowed, unable to find an answer within herself that sounded truthful.

And she interpreted the consternation in Laura's next words as an accusation.

"After what he put you through?"

_After what he put you through…_

Flashes of the cell brought a fine sheen of perspiration to her skin and yet Kara felt a shiver of cold pass down her spine.

Then she was back in the apartment standing at the base of the stairs staring up at the door she knew would be locked.

_What…?_

_No… No, no, no, no!_

_It's not real!_

Yet, when she reached her hand out, the railing felt cool and firm beneath her palm.

Kara slowly turned, looking for _him_.

Her shallow breathing faltered as she spotted Leoben leaning against the bedroom's door frame. And then her gaze caught movement from behind him as Kacey shifted into view. Still hugging the Two's leg, the child lowered the pinkie finger she'd had in her mouth and said hopefully, "Kawa?"

As Kara's eyes darted from the little girl to the man at her side, she saw the corners of Leoben's mouth lift in the familiar expression that had haunted so many of her nights.

"Welcome home."

His greeting was filled with the same insufferable complacence that had triggered her rage so many times on New Caprica. Yet now, watching him drop a hand tenderly to the child's blonde curls, Kara felt a longing for…something. The domesticality of the scene should set her teeth on edge, should have had her clawing at the door for a way out. Then why did a part of her find it comforting instead?

_What the frak's _wrong_ with me!_

"I'm not here," she tried to deny.

Leoben just gave her that knowing smile and shifted his gaze to the child. With a gentle push, "Kacey, go say hello," he urged. The girl looked up questioningly, then at his nod, took a hesitant step forward.

Unable to hold herself indifferent from Kacey's shy smile, Kara dropped to her knees, her arms opening of their own accord. At the invitation, the child scampered across the remaining distance and threw tiny arms around Kara's neck, giggling delightedly as she was lifted in a tight hug.

With her face buried in soft locks that smelled of the familiar strawberry shampoo Leoben had scavenged from somewhere, Kara wondered how this could possibly be happening. The child's weight in her arms certainly felt real enough. As did the small heels that poked into her hipbones.

Yet only moments ago she'd stood in sickbay…hadn't she?

Kara wet her lips, trying to compare this flashback to the others she'd had since returning to Galactica. Each time before she'd felt the sense that the scene had played out before; known subconsciously that it was a memory resurfacing. And this wasn't a nightmare either. Those always had a hazy feel to them, like she was experiencing them with the lack of one sense or another.

This was different.

But…maybe not for the first time.

Kara fought to untangle the muddle of past memories. Among them she found a few that didn't fit what she'd come to recognize as either flashbacks or nightmares; times when what she'd experienced had surpassed a level of reality that left her reeling in confusion afterwards. There was Gauis on Colonial Day, the reality of which she'd excused away as too much ambrosia morosely downed in the wake of Lee's humiliating desertion. Then again on New Caprica when Leoben had taken her in the cell. She'd known_—_been absolutely certain—that it was Lee that moved above and within her in that moment. The shock on realizing otherwise had driven her so deeply into darkness that she still didn't recall anything of the days that followed. Laura had passed off that incident as the result of the physical and mental abuse she'd been subjected to. She'd just been confused. Wasn't that what Laura had said? What Kara had tried to convince herself since?

Now she started to doubt that as other long forgotten—or suppressed—memories came to the fore. Hours spent locked in a dark closet where she'd found a way to escape that her mother could never have suspected.

The memories were too much. It was _all_ too much. Too disorientating when she could distinctly feel the warmth of Kacey's soft body nestled in her arms.

Struggling to ground herself, Kara knew that she was either with Laura in Galactica's lifestations…or back in the apartment on New Caprica.

Perhaps she had never left.

_Perhaps you didn't want to,_ a small voice taunted.

Fractured by opposing desires, Kara squeezed her eyes tightly shut. When she dared to open them again, her arms ached for what they'd lost as she took in the blue curtains of sickbay. When her drifting gaze settled on the figure now standing beside the bed, she recognized a very worried Laura holding the call button and looking ready to summon help. A glance to the side and she realized that Mathias stood a bare stride away, paused with a hand extended as if uncertain if it was safe to touch her.

"Are you back? Laura quietly asked, then more firmly, "Kara?"

As it dawned on her that she must have been unresponsive for a length of time to prompt such a reaction, Kara searched for some answer that wouldn't confirm just how batshit crazy she really was. A shrug was the best she could find…and by Laura's frown, it wasn't nearly enough.

Acutely shaken and unwilling to explain what had just happened, she sought to turn the focus.

"You shouldn't be up. Cottle'll have my hide for bothering you."

Several beats passed as Kara felt Laura's sharp gaze trying to penetrate her mask. There wasn't anything she could do about what either woman had seen or heard before, but she sure as frak wasn't about to give the President any more ammunition to use against her. For there was one certainty that she had gotten from the-the…vision, and that was that the mess in her mind was all her own. And had been so for a very long time. She still needed to sort things out, but she was now gut-positive that her jump through the mandala was real.

Just as her finding Earth was real.

As for the rest—well, she didn't have an explanation for the time discrepancy, but she had to believe in what she'd seen. Had to. The alternative was putting a gun to her own head. For if the Cylons _did_ control what she thought, then she was a danger to all she still cared for.

Her jaw began to ache from how tightly she had it clamped. Eying the older woman that still regarded her with a searching look, Kara realized that it was too late to look for an ally there. She'd just have to convince the Admiral to give her a Raptor…or find another way to procure a ship. Kara's expression turned mulish…and easily discernible now by Roslin as the woman resumed her seat on the edge of the bed.

In response to Kara's obvious evasion, "Doctor Cottle's occupied comparing DNA samples," Laura blandly countered. A pause before she added, "He's interested to see if these latest five vary in any manner from the others."

Kara nodded as if she really cared a flying fig about what the Doc was up to, just so long as he wasn't poking _her_ with any damned needles…or any of his as sharply pointed questions. But of course, that also meant that her hopes of an distraction in the form of the crotchety physician sauntering in and throwing her ass out wasn't about to happen either.

_Never around when you frakkin' need him_, she grumbled silently.

Her attention swept back to Laura as the woman set the call button aside and adjusted her glasses before speaking again. "I've been having the most disconcerting dreams lately," Roslin off-handedly said. "In fact, I'd just had one when you arrived."

Kara wondered where she was going with this.

"Sorry," she warily offered, thinking that maybe she was irritated at Kara for interrupting her sleep. But her apology was waved aside by the older woman.

"You didn't wake me. I just thought you'd find my dream perhaps…interesting."

Shifting on her feet, Kara wasn't sure what to say. That wasn't anything new, though, so she gave a half-shrug and neutrally responded, "Maybe," and waited.

"It's always the same these days." Laura's eyes slipped out of focus as she spoke. "I'm somewhere with long passages, and I hear footsteps. Children's footsteps. And they're running." A flicker of fear crosses the older woman's face and Kara wonders if she's scared for—or of—the children in her vision. The answer comes when she continues. "They must be so terrified. Lost and alone. I try to find them." A short pause. "Then I'm on the mezzanine of an entry hall looking across at an identical one. There's a figure there, leaning on the railing, calling frantically down at something I can't see. Everything's hazy at first. It's only when Chief Tyrol joins her that I realize that it's Sharon opposite from me. That's when I look down…and I see them. It's Hera and Galen's child."

_Ah shit! I didn't even… If the Chief's a skinjob, then his kid's a hybrid. Just like Hera. Cally's gotta be freaking._

Worry for how the petite Specialist was handling the discovery that she'd married a Cylon distracted Kara. She suddenly felt guilty for not having given much thought about how the others were dealing with the reveal of the remaining five. And after all the support the younger woman had given her, it made Kara sick to think what she was going through. Was this the Cylons' Plan B then? If their attempts at procreation via the Farms on Caprica were a failure, was this their surrogate strategy?

Her stomach twisted at the possibility that Galen—and Sam—had been inserted into the Fleet for the purpose of scoring a mate to pop out little half-breeds. Though something about that didn't make sense, Kara reasoned. Sam could've been a plant with that goal in mind, but the Chief? He'd been with the Fleet for _years; _surely long before the Cylons had learned that their efforts to produce children through other means was futile, right?

Preoccupied by the tangent her thoughts had taken, it took Kara a moment to realize that Laura had continued.

"…unning and I knew I had to follow," Laura was saying, then paused, frustration visibly thinning her lips. "I tried, but they were always disappearing around a corner just ahead of me. Sometimes I'd catch glimpses of Sharon or Tyrol down side corridors and I felt this urgency to find the children first."

Thinking about the President's decision to fake Hera's death and how much pain it had caused Karl and Sharon, Kara rather hoped that Roslin didn't succeed. Abruptly realizing what she'd just thought, she scoffed at herself. It was only a Chamalla-induced dream—probably. It had to be, right?

"At this point things start to get hazy again."

"Tripping on herbs'll do that," Kara muttered, only coming to the conclusion that she'd said it outloud when Laura gave her a reproving look.

_Oh…frak. _

She considered apologizing, but knowing her mouth, she'd just make it worse so said nothing.

"I've had visions before," Laura frostily reminded her.

With a slight nod, Kara conceded the point and at the same time grimly wondered how much longer she was going to have to stay and listen when she should be off pressing the Admiral for a Raptor. She suppressed the urge to huff out a exasperated sigh. Despite her efforts, though, Laura obviously still read the impatience in her countenance.

"I would think you'd show some interest."

"Why?" Kara bluntly asked, then felt a disturbing premonition that she didn't really want to know. When Roslin continued, her unease seemed confirmed.

"Because I'm pretty certain you're in it."

Right. It wasn't enough that the gods had shown her Earth only to then frak the Raptor's systems…and the coordinates she needed to lead the Fleet back. No. Now they'd cast her in some role in Roslin's visions again. And that had worked out _so well_ last time, she sarcastically thought. A part of her felt guilty for blaming the gods, but a louder portion reminded her of all she'd already been through, and she wondered just how much blood, sweat and damage was enough to the satisfy the deities she looked to.

Turning her back, Kara moved towards the slit in the curtain only to halt as Laura called her name. She stood with hands on hips, her head dropping as she closed her eyes; the urge to run fighting with the pull of the woman behind her.

"We each have our role to play," Laura's quiet voice came to her. Then a little harsher, "Would you rather trade places?" and there wasn't any way for Kara to answer that. She bit her lip and blinked against the sting in her eyes. So it was true. The cancer's return could only mean one thing…and obviously Laura didn't expect Cottle's treatments to do more than delay that outcome.

Spinning to face her, Kara lifted her chin and faced the woman that Pythia's prophesies had ordained to be the dying leader. She didn't speak and Laura took her staying as indication enough to continue.

"Each time before, I'd lose track of the children and then wake. Today the dream went further," Laura said. "I remember rounding a corner and seeing the children on either side of a kneeling figure. They're facing a huge doorway, so all I see at first are their backs, but then, with a child settled on each hip, the figure stands… It's you, Kara."

With the sensation of Kacey's arms around her neck still so painfully fresh, Roslin's words were like salt on a reopened wound.

"You're wrong," she ground out, crossing her arms in an attempt to push away how empty they felt.

Laura was silent for a long moment, and Kara could practically see her considering and discarding various arguments in her head. Well, she could just keep on doing so as far as Kara was concerned! Then her thoughts shifted to Galactica's daycare and a certain unfinished painting, it's undercoat a mix of colors applied with random glee by a tiny blonde. She swallowed and wet her lips. Helo probably had given her supplies away once he'd believed her dead. With a mental shake, she decided it didn't matter. There was no way she could risk seeing Kacey again. Why would she want to have anything to do with noisy, messy rugrats anyways? Hanging out with Helo, and by extension his kid, was one thing, but that was the end of any contact she wanted with _any_ child, she told herself, desperate to reject the longing she'd felt just moments ago.

Deciding she'd fulfilled her duty, Kara swiveled to leave, only to realize that the Sergeant's position was now effectively blocking her path. She glared at the woman when Mathias didn't immediately shift aside to make way.

From over her shoulder, "There was a child with you when you returned from New Caprica," she heard Laura say, and to Kara's ears it sounded like an indictment. Kacey was about the only thing she had successfully kept hidden from Laura during their 'sessions' together. She had let slip the little girl's role in Leoben's mindfraks to Colonel Tigh—and later to Lee—but she'd always managed to steer Roslin away from _that_ sensitive subject.

Now, as her wary gaze met her guard-_slash_-attendant-_slash_-something, she wondered if the Sergeant had shared with the woman in the bed any of what she'd overheard of Kara's confession to the XO. As if reading her thoughts, Mathias gave the barest shake of her head. It came as a relief that at least the President didn't know how Kara had been willing on New Caprica to do whatever the Cylons demanded if it meant protecting Kacey. If Roslin thought she could be manipulated by such pressure, she'd have that much less reason to trust Kara's account of what had happened to her over the past month.

She decided her best course of action was to ignore Laura's speculative probe.

Refusing to turn or answer, Kara stared past the Marine at the cubicle's fabric and plastic barrier. A frustrated sigh came from behind her.

"We _will_ discuss this soon, Captain Thrace," The President's tone making it clear that she wasn't letting the matter drop, merely setting is aside until later. But she appeared to have decided to let Kara escape…for now, at least. Sergeant Mathias also heard the dismissal and swung out of her path. Without glancing back at either of the women, Kara stalked out, knowing that her shadow would be just a few steps behind.

Enough of this useless shit about dreams.

She had an Admiral to convince.

And as Kara strode quickly from sickbay, she stamped down on the whisper that said she was running again from something that could never be outraced.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was not beta-ed. It took longer to complete due to time I put into making a Kara/Lee fanvid, so I wanted to post asap. And remember that reviews are a _good _thing! :)


	131. Chapter 131 Debriefs

Chapter 110 / 131

"…that's when I decided wasn't gonna let any damned Cylon programming make me into someone else," Saul Tigh said. Then, voice rising, "I'm no Boomer," he snapped out, slapping his palm on the metal table between he and Lee for emphasis.

"How can you be sure?"

At Lee's demand, a muscle in Saul's cheek twitched. The older man placed both hands before him and leaned forward.

"Cuz I'm no frakkin' traitor!" Tigh's face was flushed, and Lee saw the strain as the man tried to curb his indignation. Abruptly the Colonel sat back, his tone quieting when he said, "The Admiral saved my life, you know. Course he wasn't an Admiral then, but he came back for me. Just like he said it would…" Saul faded off, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Watching the Colonel raise a distracted hand to scratch at a day's-old growth of whiskers, Lee was glad he'd personally had time for a quick to shower and shave after shedding his jocksmock. He certainly hadn't had any since, he thought wryly. A glance at the room's clock showed that it was just into the first watches' shift; he doubted many on Galactica had seen their racks at all during the third shift. Surveying Saul again, he could see how fatigue had deepened the lines of the older man's face. They were all tired—and when Lee's stomach made a low rumble—hungry, too, he admitted. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten, and he knew for a fact that the prisoners hadn't either.

With a wave to the attending guard, "See about sending to the mess for a couple of trays," he said, a flick of his hand to indicate they were for himself and the ex-XO, "and make sure that the prisoner's receive theirs also," he carried on to order. The Marine looked uncertain about leaving him alone, but then gave the aborted salute that Lee was slowly becoming accustomed to, and turned to leave.

When alone, and sure that he and Tigh would have some time without a second pair of ears, Lee rapped the table to pull the other's attention back to him.

"How?" he began. "How did my father save your life?"

Saul's eyes squinted at him as if trying to decide how much to share, then his blue-clad shoulders gave a shrug and he leaned forward again.

"We met in a bar fight. No surprise there, I expect." He gave a gruff laugh. "I was in a tough spot. Looking at being out numbered and too damned drunk to care."

"That's it?"

"Course not!" Saul huffed, scorning the suggestion. "Turns out Bill was the new man on the rattleclap cargo-carrier I was working at the time. You see, we both mustered out after the war—" he broke off, confusion lowering his brows. "Least I thought I did." Saul's eyes turned opaque as his focus shifted inward again.

"Colonel," Lee said, growing impatient as the silence dragged out. He needed to know more about Saul's hold on his father to be better able to judge the Admiral's reactions, and he'd rather not have an audience in case there were any damaging revelations to be made.

Tigh's gaze sharpened again, and he said, "Sorry," before passing a hand over his eyes. "It's just... I'm not even frakkin' sure where my real memories start." His hands fisted on the table's surface. "Was I in the First Cylon War? Don't think they had skinjobs back then." A growl came from the man as he lifted and flexed his hand. "Frakkin' skinjob," he muttered, glaring at his hand.

Afraid that Saul was about to descend into mute musings again, "Ellen said that it was about six years after the Armistice," he offered. When Saul's gaze shifted to him, Lee continued, "According to her, the Ones wiped the memories of all the other lines, boxed Tyrol, Foster and Anders on the chance he'd need their resurrection expertise in the future, but chose to drop the two of you on Caprica with false memories of your past."

"Yeah... Yeah, that would be about when I mustered outta the Fleet," Saul agreed.

"And?"

"_And…"_ He gave a derisive snort, "and I found work around the shipyards in Caprica City. Scut runs mostly. Piloting cargo transport and the like, " he said. "Though, I badly missed flying a Viper," then at Lee's raised eyebrow,"It was real, godsdamnit!" Saul growled. "The war. Bullethead boarding parties. Watching folks I knew get gutted by damned Toasters." He jabbed a finger at Lee. _"It was frakkin' real to me!"_

As Lee gave a grudging nod, Saul appeared partially mollified. With a sullen huff, he continued, "It wasn't so bad at first; found steady work and even shacked up with an ex-Marine for a time." He scrubbed at his jaw as his gaze dropped. "The drinking was just to help me sleep," he defensively added, and Lee could see where this was heading. It wasn't hard to guess that his relationship and work both suffered as Saul became increasingly dependent on the bottle. Some of the local bars that serviced the personnel of Caprica Base were regular hangouts for those veterans that were willing to trade stories—real or fabricated—to nuggets gullible enough to be talked into buying a round of drinks. Yes, Lee decided, Saul Tigh would have fit right in, his natural bluster a magnet to the Fleet's newest hotshots; that was, until he'd down enough alcohol to become belligerent.

"Too many ex-flyers with cleaner records than mine, so I spent the next few years groundside," Saul went on. "Finally started shipping out as a deckhand on freighters. Had joined a new one a short time before I hooked up with your old man, and he had my back in that bar fight and from that point on. Things were ok after that for about two years, I guess. Not great," he shrugged, "but we managed. You see, he understood."

Lee understood then, too. The senior Adama had undoubtedly kept Tigh dry and sane during that time. In return, the man had given his father both friendship and loyalty. Oh, yes, he understood far too well as his own thoughts turned to wondering what Kara was doing now. His attention was pulled back as Saul continued.

"We were on shore leave and Bill met this blonde—I guess we both have a thing for them—and it got serious fast." He paused, and his tone was resentful when he continued. "So while I was cooling my heels for a few days in lockup over a card game gone wrong, your dad was off wooing your mom."

It was obvious from the dark look Saul cast his way that he felt Lee's father should have bailed him out or, at the very least, have been stuck in the same cell with him. He gave a mental shrug. As a kid, he'd heard enough times of how his parents had met; Carolanne just coming out of a bank and slipping on the slick pavement. His father had caught her arm, preventing a nasty fall, but she had still twisted an ankle and his dad had insisted on carrying her to a hospital a few blocks away and waiting with her. The tale had long since lost its romantic luster.

"So they got married later that week. Where'd that leave you—besides behind bars?" he asked, and watched as Saul's lips thinned.

"Bill had a contract. We both did," he said. "So he kissed the new missus goodbye and after the judge kicked me loose, we returned to our berths on that doddering excuse for a ship." Saul paused and rubbed his hands along the rough fabric of his pants. Then he took up the story again, his voice going flat. "Bill got a letter, about two months later it was. Seems the new Mrs. Adama had a few connections. She'd got him reinstated with the Fleet. He said he'd get me back in, too, once he had some pull." Saul crossed his arms. "I waited. Kept my head down. Stayed clear of the bottle. And I waited. After a year I got tired of waiting. Wasn't long after that I found my ass dirtside and out of work again."

As the figure across from him seemed to hunch in on himself, Lee shifted, and the sound of his chair legs scraping against the metal decking drew Tigh's gaze back to him.

"But he did get you reinstated…as a Captain, right?" Lee pressed.

"Yeah. Yes he did," answered Saul, sitting up a little straighter. "Saved my life. It was a close thing, though. Couldn't keep a job. Didn't see a reason to stay sober, so I didn't bother." Squinting at Lee, "Don't mind telling you it was a close thing. Day later, even an hour, and the MPs your dad sent to find me would've been too late."

Lee stood then, moving to the far wall to get some mental space more than physical distance from the man he was supposed to judge. With his hands in his trousers' pockets, he contemplated Saul's story. There was very little he'd be able to verify. Sure, the time he'd spent with Bill Adama, but as for the rest…

None of the Saul's behavior made sense if he were a plant meant to infiltrate the Fleet. There was no way the Cylons could've predicted the role Bill Adama would one day play, so why setup a saboteur as the best friend of an aging deckhand? He shook his head, rejecting the idea that it was anything more than chance that had brought the two men together. And from the sounds of things, it was his father that had each time initiated the contact. If Saul Tigh was a sleeper agent, his programming had either drastically failed or succeeded beyond any reasonable expectation. As much as Lee might resent the Colonel, once he was honest with himself, he just couldn't believe that Tigh would side with Adama's enemies. His father had proven true to his word—that was the deeper reason for Saul's explaining all he had—and Tigh had given his loyalty to Bill Adama against all comers.

Obviously, there was one thing the figure in blue across from him wanted Lee to understand; that Saul Tigh was loyal and nothing could shake that truth.

The clank of the hatch wheel spinning pulled Lee's startled gaze around, then he relaxed as he remembered the guard he'd sent for food. He stepped forward and helped the younger fellow manage the heavy door, swinging it open. Deftly relieving the Marine of the two trays, he returned to the table and slid one across to the Colonel.

As he sat and met Saul's questioning gaze, "Eat up, Sir," he said, purposefully using the honorific as he passed Tigh a fork. As the older man warily took the utensil, "I still have one more debrief, then I'll report to the Admiral," Lee said, then with a nod, "I doubt it's as bad as it looks," he added, leaving it to Saul to puzzle out whether he meant the food…or the final revealed Cylons' fate.

[ ]

Sam had just finished his meal when several guards entered the Cylon holding cell. They formed up, armed with assault rifles at the ready, before one called out Sam's name. Having already gone through this routine once when he'd been allowed to shower and change, it was less alarming this time. Still, he figured it didn't pay to make the guys with the guns impatient, so he set aside the tray and stood, hands extended.

The young man who stepped forward with a set of wrist shackles had been in the New Caprican Resistance with him. As the Marine attached the cuffs, he gave Anders an apologetic look, a definite improvement over the betrayed anger he'd first displayed. Obviously Sam wasn't the only one becoming accustomed to the fact that he was a Cylon. The relief he felt at the revelation loosened his jaw enough that he could give the soldier a reassuring smile in return.

"Enough, Private!" snapped one of the other Marines. "Just secure the prisoner and step back."

Sam sighed when the young soldier made a hasty retreat. So much for improved relations, though he supposed he shouldn't blame the guy too much. It had only been a couple of hours ago that they'd had to pull him off D'Anna. Yeah, the restraints and heightened tension weren't really a surprise; truth was that he didn't even regret it, just that the men had proven too quick at preventing him finishing off the Three.

On the lead guard's command, "Out!" Sam fell into position in the cordon of Marines, trying to look as cooperative as possible. He suddenly wondered if the just-finished meal was meant to be his last and he was even now being escorted to a nearby airlock. He really, really hoped not, if for no other reason than he wanted a chance to say goodbye to Kara.

Following stoically, Sam calculated the odds that he was going to his execution. It seemed less likely given the treatment they'd received so far.

In the hours since Saul Tigh and Lee Adama had paid their visit, time had dragged, broken only by the guards coming for one or the other of the prisoners. The first time, when they'd motioned Ellen forward, he had thought to protest. The grim expressions and poised guns had given him no choice but to watch apprehensively as she was escorted out. He was nearly nauseous from apprehension when less than a half hour later Ellen had been returned, freshly showered and relaxed looking. Her smile had reassured him that his dark thoughts of how Pegasus' Cylon prisoner was treated weren't about to be reenacted on Galactica.

Cots having been brought in, and once all the prisoners had cleaned up, they should have gotten some rest. Yet it was difficult when no one knew what was happening beyond the pleximesh of their cell. Especially when first Caprica, and then Ellen, were taken away for a second time. Time stretched in their absence, and Sam had risen from his cot and begun to pace. He supposed that the nervous tension that drove his own agitated motions could be to blame for D'Anna's behavior, but he wasn't in any mood to give the woman the benefit of a doubt. So when she started in about how trusting Kara had been a stupid move, Sam had told her that he didn't give a damned about her opinion and to leave off her complaints.

That had only seemed to fuel her bitterness.

D'Anna had acrimoniously continued on, voice purposefully pitched loud enough for him to hear, and Sam had gone from just irritated to plain enraged. It was bad enough knowing that Leoben had harmed his wife, but when the Three started in with insinuations that Kara had enjoyed the Two's attention, he had totally lost it. Only the guards' swift response had kept him from strangling her and to hell with the consequences. The one good thing was that she'd been removed and hadn't returned.

Halting at the guards' orders in front of an unmarked hatch, Anders wondered what lay behind this door. He didn't have long to wait, for in response to the Marine's call, a voice answered, "Come," giving them permission to enter. The hatch swung wide, revealing a table and two chairs within. A sharp prod in the back urged him forward. It wasn't until he cleared the threshold that Anders saw the figure lounging just to the side of the opening. He hesitated, but a gun barrel directed him onwards to the far chair.

Slouching into the seat, he eyed the other man.

"You want 'em secured, Sir?" a guard asked with a nod towards Sam's shackles.

"No, go ahead and release him."

Without taking his eyes from the motionless figure, Sam lifted his hands and the Marine made fast work of removing the restraints. Sam rubbed the chaffed skin of his wrists and waited.

"Your team can wait outside, Lieutenant."

The officer gave a dubious look before he turned to wave his men out and followed after.

Alone now, Sam asked, "You're not afraid of me, Apollo?"

Lee gave a pause before he replied, "Should I be?" and there was an undercurrent to his tone.

"Not gonna attack you, if that's what you mean." Sam shifted and hitched an arm over the edge of his chair back. "Thought there might be something else," he goaded, prodding to see if he'd understood Apollo's earlier unspoken message.

"Kara," Lee said as if that explained everything. He stepped forward and pulled the second chair clear, settling across from Sam.

Sam took a breath. The hints, rumors and insinuations that Starbuck and Apollo were more than just wingmen were true. Sam's eyes narrowed as he pushed down the urge to toss the table aside and punch the other man.

"What's she to you?" he coolly asked, then frowned as blue eyes shifted to Sam's bare right arm. In response to Lee's pointed look, Sam ground out, "Kara's my wife."

Apollo gave a short laugh as if having scored a point, and Sam's scowl deepened.

"If you can say _that_, then you don't know Kara at all."

Sam gritted his teeth at the statement—Adama was right to an extent. He gave a mental grimace at how Kara would've reacted if she'd heard his own claim of possession. If there was one thing he'd learned on New Caprica, it was that you did not _own_ Kara Thrace. If you were damned lucky and she gave of herself, then it was always known it was conditional. That was just the way she was. He'd understood that even when they'd stood together on the water's edge and exchanged vows. And it had always been enough for him. At least until now, until he faced a serious threat to what he had with her.

"Like I said, what's she to you?" he demanded, wanting to push the other on to defense. He saw the amusement shed from Apollo's expression as the pilot's face tightened in pain.

"More than you know," Lee's reply finally came.

And for a moment they understood each other as Sam recalled the devastation he'd felt when Cavil had told him that Kara was dead. Now, he recognized that same gut-loss in Lee's eyes.

_Makes sense. _Then chiding himself, _Of course it makes sense._ _They thought she was dead. _

Letting his gaze slide away from the raw emotion that reflected his own, Sam's eyes settled on the clock on the side wall. How many hours since he'd last slept? Lifting his hands, he pressed the palms against his aching eyes and rubbed.

Letting his hands fall to his lap, "Look, man," he said, "I'm too frakking wrecked to-to…" fatigue and frustration made him falter, "to _throwdown_ with you over Kara right now, Ok. So, you ask what you need to know and we can be done here."

"Fine." Lee crossed his hands on the table. "I need to know where your loyalties lie."

Sam blinked several times trying to figure out what he meant. Surely the guy didn't think he'd side with the Cylons? Not after everything that had gone down?

"You're seriously asking me that?" he demanded.

"Just answer the question, Anders," Lee's voice turned colder. "Whose side are you on?"

Leaning forward with his hands on his knees, Sam said, "I'm with the Colonials. Just like always."

"And if Kara sided with the rebels? What if she chose to leave the Fleet?"

Again Anders was rocked back on his mental heels. What the hell was Adama going on about? Kara wasn't about to abandon Galactica, certainly not to return to one of the rebel basestars. Confusion pulled his thoughts in opposing directions. Then his chin jerked up as he finally got the gist of what the other man was really asking. He gave Apollo a grim smile.

"If you're thinking that my pennant flies with Kara only…than no," Sam firmly stated. "I may not be human, but I'm not a frakking Toaster either. Nothing and _no one_ can change that." Jabbing a finger down at the table, "My team is here!" he forcefully added.

"I don't know," Lee said. "Looks to me like you got traded."

Anders stared at him, again uncertain if they were discussing Sam's political allegiance or Kara's affection. Right. He could answer both easily enough. "I know who I'm with," he replied, and took some satisfaction from the other man's clenching jaw. The smugness he felt was fleeting, though, as the sense of time slipping away drew his eyes to the clock again.

"Look, man, we need this," he said, then clarifying, "This alliance. Leoben gave me the rendezvous coordinates, but the rebels won't wait. We've got five, maybe six, days max. Cavil's forces are tough, but if Galactica joins with the rebels, we've got a chance at taking him down."

"Why should I believe that this is anything but a trap?"

"Because it's not."

"Convince me."

At the cold bite in Apollo's words, Sam bleakly sought some argument to break through to the other man. _Frak me!_ he cursed silently. He wasn't one of those fast talking mediaheads; he'd always left that to the C-Buc's PR department. And yet, here he was now expected to find a way to merger two rival groups. It took effort to not pound a fist on the table between them. How the hell was he supposed to persuade Adama when Sam himself still felt the dregs of bitter hatred towards those that had harmed so many of his friends—and this despite having his restored memory of having once belonged to that same collective. There was no frakking way he could see to prove the legitimacy of the rebel's offer.

_If Leoben was here—_

Sam broke off as the irony of the thought taunted him. Yet the flash of guilt was quickly snuffed by the realization that the man across from him would've been even less likely to accept anything the Two proposed. Then it occurred to Sam that he was going about this the wrong way.

"We both love Kara and I'd never do anything to hurt her," he said, barely holding back from asking Lee if he could claim the same. Instead, Sam went on, "This alliance is the best chance any of us has to survive." He saw Adama's resistance waver. "Kara spent weeks on the rebels' basestar and they didn't harm her. Go ahead, ask her. And then the rebels let her go as soon as they didn't have the Ones to answer to."

"Since when do the Cylons have to 'answer to' any single model?"

"Godsdamnit, Lee. You're not _listening_." Sam glared. "Cavil's manipulated all of us for years. Whose plan do you think it was to destroy the Twelve Colonies? I'm telling you that he's a frakking psycho—all the Ones are," Sam burst out, then took a breath, trying to restrain his rage at thoughts of the Ones. His anger was layered, and deeper than the effects of his recent captivity. Eying the man across from him, Sam figured if anyone could understand it, Lee Adama would.

"After Ellen and I resurrected, Cavil came by to taunt us with 'stories' of what was happening to Saul and Kara." He definitely had Lee's attention now. "Cavil liked details. What he said—" Sam broke off to swallow the bile that rose at the memories of torments the One had described during those dark weeks. Forcing his voice to steady, he continued. "He likes it to hurt. When he told me that Kara was dead, there was this look in his eyes…" Shaking his head, Sam wasn't sure how to explain that moment. Bringing his eyes back to Lee's, he ground out, "The Ones don't just _want_ to wipe out all humans, they're obsessed with it." Spacing his next words for emphasis, "They. Will. Never. Stop," he grimly stated.

He watched Lee shift in his chair and hoped the man was finally getting it. Finally coming to see that the Colonials could never be safe as long as the faction led by the Ones still existed. Deciding to play out his last remaining move, he said, "The rebels made their choice. With or without Galactica, there's no going back for them. Cavil's not the kinda guy to forgive and forget, you know." Sam settled further in his chair then and waited.

As Lee drummed his fingers on the table, Sam thought he saw grudging recognition of the points he had made. He could only hope it was enough. Then Adama rose and gave him a short nod before turning and moving towards the hatch. Uncertain how to take the man's response, Sam nearly called out, but left his question unspoken. Lee either believed him, or he didn't.

Recuffed, Sam stood. As he did, he chose to believe that he'd gotten through to the younger Adama. He figured if the two of them, rivals as they apparently were, could reach a tentative truce, then there was yet a chance for the same between the Colonials and rebels.

[ ]

Lee's gaze swept CIC, seeking the Admiral's form in the low-lit chamber. He'd come straight from his last debrief and just wanted to give his father his recommendation and go find a rack in which to crash. As the familiar sounds of murmured orders and status reports that were the backdrop of Galactica's nerve center hummed around him, Lee realized that his dad wasn't here. Frustration warred with fatigue as he turned to leave.

"Apollo," a voice called to him.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the tall figure of the new XO step towards him. He gave Agathon a questioning look and caught the tilt of Helo's head indicating that he wanted Lee to follow him. As he entered the War Room, he wondered what the newly promoted Major could want. He didn't have long to wait as Helo closed the hatch and turned to face him.

"You're looking for the Admiral?"

"Yes," he replied, exhaustion making him curt.

"He's resting. Best to wait until later."

The words to tell the man to mind his own business were on the tip of Lee's tongue, but he swallowed them back and ran an agitated hand through his hair. As he did, he considered whether his report was time sensitive enough to warrant waking his father. Thinking about it, he had to admit that it wasn't. Moreover, he knew just exactly how strung out the Admiral was and a few hours rack time was likely to make him more receptive to Lee's recommendation. And he knew his own arguments would fair better if they were at least coherent, something that right now Lee wasn't sure he could pull off.

"Right," he agreed. "Have me paged once he's up." He gave Agathon a nod, but as he moved to step by, a hand caught his elbow and he raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"About Showboat, Sir," Helo started, then hesitated. Lee's confusion seemed to make up the other man's mind, for he went on, "Is she the best choice for CAG? Surely Kat would be the better. She's been Galactica's CAG before."

"Kat's good. Really good, but she never went through OCS," Lee said. "Captain Case has both the training and experience; she was my CAG on Pegasus you'll remember."

"Showboat _is_ from Pegasus," Helo said slowly, "that's one reason I thought Kat might be best."

"We're a mixed crew now," Lee reminded him. "We've nearly as many pilots from Pegasus now as Galactica's.

"Yes, but I'd think that—"

Lee interrupted, "Look, you're the XO now. If you want to swap them, then do it."

He watched Agathon straighten as the idea that he, not Lee, was in the position to make this sort of decision now. When it became clear that the other man wasn't going to say anything further, Lee stepped past him.

Someplace on this ship there was a rack he could claim for at least a few hours. Everything else would have to wait.


	132. Chapter 132 Offshoots

Chapter 132 Offshoots

Coming slowly awake with Lee's familiar scent tickling her nose, Kara unrepentantly snuggled her face deeper into his pillow and drew a complacent breath. She easily ignored the twinge of conscience at having ousted him from his berth and took a moment to just enjoy the sensual feeling of being in Lee's bed.

But the respite from the previous day's confrontations didn't last long, and Kara sighed as she languidly stretched, surprised to find her muscles stiff. She must have barely moved the entire time she'd slept. With that thought, came the realization that she'd actually gone a complete sleep cycle without waking from some nightmare or another. Giving a mental shrug, she didn't delve into the possible reasons why.

Rising, she padded barefoot over to the cabin's double-sized locker and pulled it open. The worn hinge squeaked and she grinned at how irritating Lee must have found the sound. Her smile slipped, though, at this reminder of how limited the battlestar's supplies must be if the obsessive Apollo hadn't felt he could justify the use of lubricant for such a non-essential purpose.

Kara surveyed the locker's contents. Evidenced by the folded clothes and personal items still stowed so neatly within, she knew that Lee hadn't had time to clear out his things before she had taken over his cabin—glancing at the room's clock—some six hours ago, she realized. Military etiquette dictated that she leave his things untouched, but the edge of something tucked into the lower shelf's corner caught her eye and Kara bent forward to gently free the picture.

Three young people frozen in a moment of time.

Staring at Zac's open smile, with herself clasped in his arms as Lee stood stiffly by, Kara searched her feelings for the familiar guilt and was startled to not find any. Knowing that Lee must have kept this when the rest of her things had been auctioned off, she carefully returned the photo to its original place and gently closed the door.

A quick exploration of the cabin revealed no evidence of a co-occupant, and Kara couldn't deny the relief she felt at not finding any indication that Dee had moved back in. Instead, she gave her BDUs a quick sniff and decided they'd suffice for another day. Would definitely have to hit up the QM for a full kit sometime today, she decided as she laced her boots.

Half an hour later, Kara set her tray on a corner table in the mess and side-eyed Mathias as the woman settled onto the bench beside her. It looked like the Sergeant had also snagged some additional rack time when Kara had gone to Lee's quarters to crash for a few hours. She supposed they both had needed it; _she_ certainly felt better for the additional sleep, the nap in the brig hadn't been nearly long enough, but she was anxious now to resume her push for a Raptor. And as much as she hated to admit it, Helo had been right to turn her away last night when she'd gone in search of the Admiral after leaving Laura in sickbay. She'd been pissed at first at Karl's interference, but had then grudgingly accepted his argument that the Old Man was more likely to listen once he'd had a chance to sleep on her proposal.

Having been thwarted in both attempts to get support for her continued search for Earth, she finally had reluctantly retreated to the private cabin Lee had insisted on giving her—his own. There, the Sergeant had assigned another guard to stand watch at the hatch before heading off herself. Well, she didn't begrudge the Marine the rest, but it still bothered Kara that Adama distrusted her enough to insist on a guard dog.

Now, probing at the green mass that vaguely resembled hash, Kara grimaced. It wasn't the unappetizing food that darkened her thoughts, though, but the poorly disguised algae reminded her of Laura's revelation that she had somehow lost over four days without the least idea of how.

"You get used to it…eventually," a quiet voice said, and Kara looked up to see Sharon standing on the other side of the table. _No,_ _Athena_, she reminded herself, feeling the slight disorientation that thoughts of the multiple copies of the Eight always caused her.

"May I?"

Realizing that the figure in dress blues was holding a tray and asking permission to sit, Kara gave a shrug of her shoulders and flatly said, "Suit yourself."

"Hello, Sergeant." Athena gave a small nod to the other woman at the otherwise empty table. Then Mathias' "Sir" in acknowledgment was the last words for several minutes as the three women's attention turned towards their meals.

"So…how are you feeling?" the words were neutrally spoken, but Kara bristled defensively as her eyes met the brown ones opposite her.

"Just peachy. Yourself?" she sardonically replied, then lifted her fork as if bored and studied the congealing piece on the end. The sigh she heard in response gave her a petty gratification that Kara didn't bother to question.

"It's like that, huh?"

Not bothering to meet Athena's gaze again, "Just sitting here trying to eat in peace," she said, and didn't bother to question her uneasy anger at the Eight.

"Thought we were past this, Kara."

This time she did look up and the frustration in the other woman's expression was clear to read. Instead of satisfaction this time though, Kara felt a twinge of remorse and put the uneaten bite aside to cross her arms as she leaned back in her chair.

"You got something to say, then spit it out, Lieutenant," she said, her tone sullen.

"You never make things easy, do you, Starbuck," replied Athena, her eyes looking sad. Again the sigh. "Look, just wanted to know how you're doing. That's all." She lifted her hands in a sign of surrender and reached for her tray, obviously intending to leave. Her motioned halted though as the third woman at the table spoke up.

"Stay, Sir," said Erin Mathias, her polite words somehow sounding more like an command than a request. "I'm sure that Captain Thrace would like the company," she added, giving Kara a look that held both reprimand and understanding at once.

Kara's first instinct was to tell the Sergeant to keep to her own frakkin' business, but then a quiver of humor stilled the impulse. Instead she said, "By all means, stay," with a magnanimous wave at the table. "If I have to choke down this slop, least you can do is share the indigestion."

"It grows on you." Athena took a bite then and chewed with an expression of mock enjoyment. "Yummmmmm," she said, drawing out the sound to a ridiculous length.

"Right," pointing her fork at the other woman, "there's no frakkin' way this stuff'll grow on me...unless I'm wearing it," Kara scoffed.

"I hear it's good for the complexion," offered Athena. "Who knows, might even improve _your_ pasty-white face, Starbuck." At her quip, Kara gave Athena a mock-hurt scowl.

"Ha! Haven't you heard?" Kara leaned forward then, voice lowering as if to divulge a secret. "Green's out of style," she whispered, and then promptly smeared a line of algae along Athena's cheek.

"Oh, that's mature, Starbuck. Thanks."

With luxuries like napkins long gone, Athena had to use the back of her hand to wipe at her face as Kara settled back with a grin. The darker woman have her a severe look before licking the mess from her hand. She didn't bother to hide the grimace at the taste this time, and Kara's smirk grew.

"You were saying?"

"You're such a child sometimes," Athena grumbled as she wiped again at her face to be sure she'd gotten it all off. When she looked up, her eyes widened at the change in the blonde across from her. The smirk was gone and loss dilated the pupils of Kara's eyes. Without a word, Kara rose, abandoning her barely touched tray to move towards the door. A worried glance between Sharon and Mathias was all that was needed for both women to quickly rise to follow her out.

Kara was already halfway down the empty corridor with her strides lengthening even as they tried to catch up.

"I didn't know you were such a coward," Athena called out.

The accusation pulled Kara to a halt. Her hands clenched as the familiar anger came rushing forward again.

"You can't keep running, Kara," the voice grew softer even as it moved closer.

The flame of her rage was snuffed as quickly as it had come. She bent her head as she realized that it was less than a shift ago that she'd vowed to face whatever came…and yet, here she was fleeing from the truth of her weakness as if nothing had changed.

_You've always been weak._

The whisper in her mother's voice whispered.

_A quitter and a coward._

No, momma, not anymore, she thought.

With hands shifting to her hips, Kara lifted her chin and turned to face the two women. She forced herself to hold steady beneath their scrutiny.

"What happened back there?" Athena finally asked.

Before Kara could figure out how to explain, she heard footsteps behind her and automatically moved to one side of the hall. Her gaze met the curious one of the crewman as he passed. A scowl was enough to send him hurrying along.

"Perhaps this isn't the place," Mathias suggested.

"We can go back to my quarters," offered Athena, "Karl's in CIC and Hera's at the daycare." Kara couldn't stop an instinctive flinch at mention of the little girl and saw the Cylon's look turn speculative. The urge to escape both of the women's presence and find some place where she wasn't being constantly reminded of what she'd lost hammered at her resolve to stop running.

Forcing her jaw to unclench, "Lead the way, Lieutenant," she managed.

Kara avoided Athena's gaze as the smaller woman moved past her. She fell in behind Sharon and felt Mathias at her own back.

On entering the Agathon's quarters, Kara's gaze was immediately pulled to the cot they used for Hera. A few toys lay atop the bed, waiting the child's return. She turned away, arms automatically crossing as she watched Athena pick up a pair of mismatched tiny socks and toss them onto a pile of discarded clothes in one corner of the cabin. Then the woman gave a wave towards the folding table and three chairs Karl had scrounged up from somewhere. Taking the indicated seat, she glanced over her shoulder and wasn't surprised to see Mathias taking her usual place by the hatch instead of joining them.

The scrape of metal-on-metal brought her head around.

As Athena settled into the chair across from her, Kara uneasily shifted in her own.

"How's Cally taking it," she abruptly asked, wondering how the petite Specialist was handling the revelation that her husband was a skinjob and, as a result, her little boy a hybrid. She couldn't tell if the grimace that twisted Sharon's expression was from dislike of the woman who had made her hate of the Eights abundantly clear or if it was an indication of how badly Cally was dealing with the situation.

"She's not left her cabin," Athena finally replied.

"Anyone checked on her…and the kid?" At the other woman's shrug, "Someone needs to," Kara said.

"Certainly not me. I'm the last person she'd want to see."

"Someone should."

"Then you do it, Kara."

Silence but for the background murmur of Galactica's engines fell between them as thoughts of Cally and Galen inevitably led to ones of Sam. Kara didn't have to imagine how Cally felt: she'd had nearly a week now to come to terms with her own realization of what Anders was, and yet the knowledge _still_ tasted sour on her tongue.

And then there was Nikki…

Her gaze strayed again to the cot.

"You know, Karl told me about Kacey." At Athena's words, Kara's head snapped around and her breath caught. The smaller woman gave a nod of satisfaction, and Kara realized that her reaction had undoubtedly confirmed her suspicions. Shame—and anger, its quick companion—flushed Kara's body with heat; it was all she could do to stay seated.

Denied escape, she instinctively struck out. "Helo needs keep his fat mouth shut."

"Hey, he's just concerned." Then at Kara's glare, "Quit with the hysterics, Starbuck. No one's buying them here," said Athena, her tone making it clear that she wasn't about to be intimidated or so easily distracted.

It was Kara's eyes that dropped first as she let out a slow breath with a hiss of frustration. They didn't understand. It wasn't like she could just change a lifetime of conditioned responses. All of them just expected her to open up—to talk.

And she frakkin' _hated_ it!

"I know he cares," Kara grudgingly said. "I know, it's just…" trailing off, her gaze slid again to Hera's bed.

When it became clear that Kara wasn't going to continue, "Kacey's important to you," Athena prompted. At Kara's noncommittal shrug, Sharon's lips thinned, then she insisted, "Tell me why, Kara."

Abruptly, Kara surged to her feet. The urge to bull past Mathias where the Sergeant stood by the hatch moved Kara a step in that direction before she forced herself to stop. Instead, she turned to pace the few strides to the cabin's other side. With the flat grey of the metal wall before her, Kara's fists clenched as she fought down the feeling of dissolution that she was coming to recognize as a precursor to a flashback.

From behind her, "I swear, Starbuck, you bloody my wall, you're going to clean it up yourself," warned Athena.

Her voice snapped the last threat of the flashback and Kara felt her muscles loosen. But Sharon's words reminded her of another time. She twisted to face the Cylon.

"I did it last time," Kara brusquely said. Then at the confused look she got, she added, "Karl was a mess himself. He couldn't, so I cleaned your frakkin' wall." She saw the smaller woman stiffen with the realization that Kara was referring to when Sharon had forced her husband to shoot her so she could retrieve Hera. She and Karl had risked so much.

_She's frakkin' crazier than me._

"You put the Fleet in danger, giving the Cylons your downloaded memories," she accused.

"I was pretty sure I could block certain things."

"Pretty sure?" Kara derisively said.

"Yes. And it worked."

"How do you know?"

Athena took a calming breath before answering. "Because there were blanks in my memory when I resurrected," she flatly replied as if that were proof enough.

Kara tilted her head, "And if you'd known you couldn't block them, then what? Would you still have done it," she harshly demanded.

"Yes," the answer came without hesitation and Kara stared incredulously at the other woman for a moment before ducking her head. When Sharon continued, "You think I shouldn't have. That it was better to leave my child to whatever they were doing to her than to take the chance,"

Glaring up at her from beneath hooded lashes, Kara ground out through a clenched jaw, "It was treason."

"The Admiral didn't think so."

Kara's gaze dropped again, and then she saw Athena's boots shift forward a pace.

"What's this about, Kara?" Sharon asked. "Why are you suddenly angry about what I did for Hera?" A long pause, then, "Asking about Cally and Nikki. Now Hera. This is all about Kacey," said Sharon, comprehension dawning in her voice.

Lifting her head, Kara wet her lips and finally spoke her shame. "I thought Kacey was mine. Leoben said…I believed…but the bastard lied." This time it was Athena whose eyes shifted to toy-strewn bed before coming back to meet Kara's with a new understanding in their brown depths.

"You loved her," a statement, but Kara jerked a nod in reply. "And you miss her," Sharon quietly added.

"A lie. All a frakkin' lie." She clasped her arms around herself. "I shouldn't…it's not like I've ever wanted—" she broke off, hunching her shoulders.

"But?"

Kara swallowed repeatedly, trying to loosen her throat enough to continue.

"Kacey was…" she faltered, then took a breath and pushed forward, "For nearly a month I had a kid. Yeah, Starbuck with a kid, imagine it." She gave a harsh laugh as her gaze fell, not wanting to see the disbelief and pity she was sure to find in the other's eyes. "I thought I had a daughter, and for those weeks I was almost…" she trailed off again.

"Almost what, Kara?" quietly Athena prodded. As Kara's eyes lifted, the darker pair widened slightly. "Almost…happy? Is that it?"

It was beyond her to respond, but Sharon seemed to read the answer in her silence. The petite woman moved to the cot and lifted a doll made of colored rag scraps. She stroked it for a moment before turning back to face her.

"I get it, Kara. These past months with Hera." Pausing, she hugged the doll. Then, "Learning she was alive, getting her back, being a family," a gentle smile curved her lips, "I didn't understand before, about love. Not really understand its depth. I do now," Sharon stated.

"Love had nothing to do with it."

"You loved that little girl. You protected her. Cared for her." Sharon stepped closer and offered Kara the doll. "There was nothing wrong in loving Kacey."

Glaring at the makeshift toy, all Kara could see was how tattered it appeared; a thing pieced together and patched, not a real doll at all. Just like Kacey could never be Kara's actual daughter—or she a decent mother. Her eyes rose and whatever Sharon saw in their depths this time caused the other woman to protectively withdrawal the proffered toy.

As Kara's lips turned up in a grim smirk, Athena frowned.

"You're such a coward." Green eyes flared at the repeated accusation, but Sharon wasn't done yet. "When it comes to feelings, you cut and run every time."

"Shut up," Kara warned, hands fisting as her arms dropped to her sides. "You don't know what the frak you're talking about."

"Really? Ask anyone that knows you then. Ask the Adamas," taunted Athena and Kara jerked as if slapped. The rising anger ebbed at the mention of Lee and the Old Man. Sharon's tone softened then, "Stop pushing people away, Kara. Stop hiding from your feelings."

"Like I need them," Kara bitterly said.

"Pretending doesn't make them cease to exist," Athena said. "They're still controlling you. Think about it. Why do all the things you do? All the reckless, self-destructive stunts?"

Kara's expression turned mulish as the whipsaw of anger and shame cut at her again.

_What the frak she know. Bunch of circuits and programs._

As if she'd read Kara's thoughts, "A coward _and_ stupid. You're a piece of work, Starbuck. You really are," goaded Athena, and then straightened as Kara moved menacingly forward. "Is this what you want? A fight? You know I can take y—" Athena broke off, ducking the wild swing Kara suddenly threw at her head.

Off-balance from her miss, Kara felt the Cylon woman slip behind her as arms snaked around her neck and throat. She struggled as the hold tightened, tipping her back and impairing her breathing. The flash of rage that had fueled her attack dwindled as the flow of blood and air to her brain was restricted by Athena's contracting muscles. Her attempts to break free grew feeble, and the edges of her vision had started to dim when she was abruptly released. She stumbled forward, nearly falling, but caught herself against the wall while gasping to fill air-starved lungs.

"That's enough!"

Athena's firm words brought Kara around, and she faced the Eight's cool look with a glare as she rubbed at her sore throat.

"You want a fight, I'm sure Karl, Lee, or even the Sergeant here," Athena twitched her chin towards where the Marine stood tensely watching, "would oblige you. But I'm not your punching bag. I don't like bruises and bloody noses, so we aren't doing this, Starbuck."

"You started it," said Kara sullenly, vaguely aware how childish she sounded.

"I did."

At Athena's admission, Kara's brows drew together in confusion.

"Then wha—"

Cutting her off, "You won't talk—or listen; not until you're forced to," Athena flatly said. "So, now you're going to tell me why Kacey has you knotted so tightly you're strangling." When Kara didn't immediately answer, Athena continued. "Some of it's clear: you can't stand that you fell for Leoben's lies, and that you came to care for Kacey—love her even. Also, from what I've heard of your mother-issues, suddenly finding yourself one would've stirred up any number of feelings, too, right?"

Athena's discerning gaze pinned Kara to the wall even as her words ripped away the cloak of anger Kara had used to cover the flayed emotions beneath. Didn't she get it? Physical hurt was preferable to this feeling of exposed nerves where every word caused an agony she didn't know how to endure. Yet here Sharon was expecting her to say something more when it was obvious she'd already told way too much!

_Frak me_.

Shifting from foot to foot, Kara's eyes met Athena's and slipped away again. Finally, with the accusations of cowardice echoing in her head, she wet her lips and forced herself to hold the other woman's gaze.

"I thought, what with Hera and what you did…" Kara hesitated, but as the dark-haired woman nodded, she tried to continue, "maybe you could…or just...frak, I don't know…" she trailed off.

"Maybe I even _could _help or understand or whatever, if you'd just tell me what happened," Sharon said, "Reading minds wasn't included in my programming, so you're going to have to give me a little more to go on here."

After giving the Eight a surly look, Kara finally capitulated. "D'Anna was going to use Kacey; she wanted me to be their talking head," Kara began, and then the words came swifter. "She said that the Colonials would listen to _Starbuck_; cooperate with the occupation if I got behind it. Pretty much said that if I wanted to keep Kacey, keep her safe, all I'd have to do was collaborate." Kara struggled to meet the darker pair of eyes as she continued. "I would've done it—would've agreed to do anything she wanted—but the next day Galactica came back." Now her gaze did drop. "Gaeta wasn't the one they should've airlocked."

"Gaeta's fine, they didn't—" Athena started.

Interrupting, "No, but I wanted them to. Wanted to hear him beg, to be the one to hit the button and blow his sorry ass into space," Kara grimly said, remembering the gnawing anger that had driven her to taunt and kick the kneeling man. It was clear now that her rage was fueled as much by her own self-condemnation as her actual belief in the Lieutenant's treason. "But it should have been me, instead."

"So you think, what, that you're a traitor because of something you _might_ have been going to do?" demanded Sharon.

"I would have."

"You don't know that." At Kara's sneer, "Fine. Say you had acted as the Cylons' mouthpiece. So what," Athena dismissively said.

"What?"

"Seriously, what difference would it have made?"

Gapping at the other woman, Kara wondered how she could so blithely shrug off a confession of colluding with the enemy.

"It's treason. I—"

"No," raising a hand, Athena cutoff Kara's protest. "First, you _didn't_ act as their figurehead. And even if you had decided to, there were extenuating circumstances."

"You a frakkin' lawyer now?"

"Just think about it, Kara." As the blonde opened her mouth, Athena didn't give her a chance to speak. "Think for a change. Or better yet, listen." Resentfully clamping her jaw shut, Kara waited. After letting a moment pass for emphasis, Athena continued. "Four months is a long time. Did you even know what was happening outside of the detention center?" Once Kara gave a reluctant shrug, "Well then, you couldn't know if Galactica and Pegasus had even survived the initial attack, let alone if the Admiral had any intention of attempting a rescue."

"I knew the Old Man wouldn't just run," Kara denied.

"Four months," Athena repeated. "Isolated…tortured. That's a long time to hold onto nothing but hope."

"Still…"

"And what if the Fleet hadn't come back? If it was decided that those on New Caprica were lost, most probably already dead?" Athena's words echoed the litany of doubts that had taken root in that apartment and the tendrils that had spread as the Occupation continued into weeks and then months. Leoben had certainly done what he could to encourage their growth, Kara bitterly thought as she remembered his frequent repetitions that the Colonial ships had been destroyed.

Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face, for Athena said, "Ask around. Ask those left behind and see how many had come to believe that they'd been abandoned for good."

"The Admiral came back," Kara protested—abet weakly now.

"Yes, he did," she agreed, "but it was a tough choice." At Kara's dubious look, Athena's voice hardened as she went on, "There were thousands of people still on the various ships within the Fleet. People who had as much right to the Battlestars' protection as those on New Caprica. By going back, Adama risked the future of the _entire_ remnants of the human race. The tactical situation—and common sense—both came down on the side for a decision to go on instead of back." Athena paused, then continued, her tone softening some, "But you already know this, Kara. Tell me that you hadn't come to the same conclusion when D'Anna gave you her ultimatum?"

Kara's eyes slid away and then back before she snapped out, "It doesn't frakkin' matter."

"What makes you more angry, that Adama—both of them—left you behind in the first place…or that they actually came back?" At Athena's words, Kara's chin jerked up. But before she could respond, "By returning, they proved you wrong for giving up. Isn't that right? You think that you should have just blindly trusted that they'd find a way, devise a plan. And if only you'd been stronger, braver, you wouldn't have betrayed them by believing that there would be no rescue."

Harsh breathing that Kara distantly recognized as her own filled her ears as Athena's accusations coalesced with her own sense of shame. The noise in her head was so loud that at first she didn't hear the other woman continue.

"..is guilt, it's got you so twisted up that you can't even see that most of it's not even yours," stated Athena. "Regardless of what you think, not everything's your fault." As Kara stared her incomprehension, the other woman shook her head and said, "You're not getting this, are you." Then, "I'm not blaming you, Kara. The Admiral doesn't. Lee doesn't. The only one on this entire ship that does, is you."

"That's because they don't know," Kara ground out.

"It won't make a difference, not to people that know you." When Kara just shook her head in denial, Athena narrowed her eyes and said, "You think you're the only one wracked by their choices? How do you think the Admiral and Lee feel? They made the hard call to jump away. You know it was the right one, yet you can bet that it haunts them both. How many died in the months it took for them to come up with a plan with any chance of success? How many suffered—how much did _you_ suffer while they were forced to impotently wait?" Her voice turned grim. "Oh yes, I'm sure that they still blame themselves for not finding a quicker solution."

"It's not the same."

"Sure it is," disagreed Athena. "You did what you could to protect those you were responsible for."

"No, I—"

Cutting her off, "Sorry, wrong answer, Kara," Athena said. Then, "Did you give them any of Galactica's codes—codes that would have been outdated anyways, a fact that you knew?"

"No, but—"

Again not letting her finish, "Contingency plans, then?" she suggested. As the blonde head gave a minuet shake, "Then what did you give the enemy? What are you guilty of?" Athena demanded. When sullen silence met her questions, "You did nothing to compromise Galactica, to compromise those on New Caprica. With no knowledge of the Admiral's status or plans, you decided to protect the only responsibility you had—Kacey."

"And to do that, I'd have sold out the Resistance."

"Would you have given them names?"

"Didn't know any," Kara admitted.

"Then what?" Athena asked. "You think that if you had spoken out against the guerrilla attacks, had advocated cooperation with the Occupation, that you would have made things worse?" Kara didn't bother to respond, the answer was obvious to her, so she was surprised again when Athena said, "Then you'd be wrong. The Resistance was ill-conceived from the beginning. The Cylons weren't regular invaders. With a Resurrection Ship in orbit, they never would've withdrawal due to too much loss of life. And if Galactica hadn't returned, if things had gone along as they were, Cavil and the others would have overruled those models that were promoting moderation. They'd have bombarded the human settlement from orbit and deemed the experiment in co-existence a failure." Now Athena tilted her head as she forced Kara to meet her gaze. "If Galactica hadn't returned, your decision to cooperate might have made the difference in the survival of every remaining human on the planet."

"Survival," Kara gave a harsh laugh, "under the Cylons, like that's a life worth living."

"Then why didn't you just snap Kacey's neck?" Kara's eyes widened in shock at Athena's words. "If you really believed that Galactica wouldn't return, that death was preferable to the Occupation, then why would you have agreed to D'Anna's demand?"

Kara's mind stuttered, unable to form a coherent answer to the contradiction the other woman suggested.

"Time, Kara," Athena said, not waiting for her response. "Maybe you would have bought time for the Admiral to return. Maybe time for the Cylons to grow bored and move on. Who knows what might have happened, but with time there are possibilities." Athena shrugged. "And besides, it never happened, so don't you think it's about time to let this guilt go and get on with more important things."

Rubbing her temples with stiff fingertips, Kara tried to make sense of this different perspective. She couldn't say she agreed with Athena's take on the Resistance, it being so at-odds with her ingrained urge to fight until she couldn't, but she also found it difficult to find holes in her arguments. Could Athena be correct that even if Kara had caved to D'Anna's plans, it wouldn't have been the betrayal she had thought?

She still doubted that the Old Man would have had the same take on it as Athena, but…

With a grimace, she considered all Sharon had said. Really, it hardly mattered if she was right or not about Kara's crimes, she'd made her point that Kara had other things of greater consequence to do than get diverted by past actions. Hadn't she had managed to function with Zak's death on her soul? What were a few more checks in the red when finding Earth was at stake. Yet, even as she thought this, her stomach still churned with a mixture of anger and shame.

"Say you're right," Kara quickly frowned as Athena arched a brow. "It's not like I can just hit erase. You're the one with programming, not me."

"Really? I'd say your parents did some pretty extensive programming," countered Athena. Kara abruptly paled, and as her breath caught in her throat, it was apparent that the Eight knew she'd gone too far, for she quickly added, "I just meant that, of course it's not easy to change how we think, what we feel. But it _can_ be done." And Kara clearly heard the inference that if Athena could choose to ignore _her_ programming, then Kara was expected to at least try to do the same.

Kara's gaze shifted away.

This was why she hated to talk: too much was brought up that she'd rather just leave buried. Yet she found herself grudgingly accepting that at least some of what Athena had put forth made a twisted sort of sense.

"Kara?" The tentative way it was said make her look back at Athena. "What did they do to you _this_ time?"

And there it was: suspicion cloaked in concern, distrust masked by worry. They all thought the Cylons had frakked with her head again. Not that she could really blame them, not with the mess she'd been after New Caprica. But their skepticism still hurt. The worst of it was that Kara knew that she somehow had to convince them she had actually found Earth and, if given the chance, she could again.

Realizing that her erratic moods made it that much more difficult for them to believe in her, she decided that the first step was to get a handle on her flaring emotions. Through a conscious choice, Kara relinquished the anger stirred by Athena's wariness.

With a level gaze she met the darker pair of eyes.

"Nothing," she calmly answered. At Athena's dubious expression, Kara added, "I don't think they knew _what_ to do with me." She shrugged. "Look, you're right. I've things to do and they aren't getting done here." She started toward the hatch, but paused and haltingly started, "I just...um, l wanted..." but trailed off.

"You're welcome."

Without turning, Kara nodded, relieved that Athena had understood the gratitude Kara still had trouble expressing.

Sergeant Mathias followed her out and nearly tread on her heels when Kara abruptly stopped before a hatch two down from the Agathons.

"Cally?" called out Kara as she gave the metal door a quick double-rap. When no response came after a few seconds, she tried again, "Hey, Cally, it's Starbuck," and banged a little harder. Silence again answered her. A glance at the Marine drew an unhelpful shrug, so Kara resumed her course towards CIC where she hoped to corral the Admiral into listening—really listening—to her this time.

Earth was out there.

All Kara needed was a little help finding it.

And wasn't it the Old Man that had said she needed to learn to ask for help?!

It was time to hold him to that.

* * *

Author's Notes: Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter done. It just kept twisting on me. Delaying things further, my computer crashed. Fortunately, I had backed up most everything and didn't lose any of the story. I still had to wait for a new computer before I could finish this chapter and get it posted. My hope is to get the next one posted within a couple of weeks. It's likely to be shorter, and I'd originally planned on it being part of this chapter, but that's not how things worked out. Thanks again for those of you that have continued to follow along. And comments are always welcome!


	133. Chapter 133 Results

Chapter 133 Results

Adama thanked his steward when the youngster removed the breakfast tray from his desk. He frowned at the teenager's departing back though, wondering how he'd come to be surrounded by children. On the thought's heels came the reminder that it wasn't true, it only felt that way this morning because of the two people that were both currently…unavailable.

Worry deepened the lines above his brow as he wondered how Laura's first Doloxan treatment had gone. He had to believe that the cancer had been caught early enough this time for conventional therapies to work, for the alternative wasn't an option he was willing to consider. Too many souls lost already and he shied from the thought that Laura's reprieve had been only a temporary one.

A glance at the clock drew a frown.

Cottle had insisted on keeping his VIP patient overnight for observation in case there were side effects from the chemotherapy. But if the Doc gave her the all-clear, she was due to be released to return to her Presidential duties this morning. Adama admitted to himself that he had taken his time getting around on the hopes that she'd seek him out here where they could have a few words together in private.

Clouded blue eyes shifted to the suite's couch and an idea surfaced; Laura could use his quarters—specifically his bunk—while he took the couch. After all, the sofa had sufficed well enough for others. And then his mind immediately shifted to Kara and their confrontation the day before.

Shame abruptly bullied him to his feet to lean heavily on the desk's edge.

As the memory of the his palm striking Kara caused him to clench the offending hand, he silently berated himself. How could he hit her like that?! Guilt clamped a vise to his chest as Adama questioned what had possessed him? Sorting through the compulsion that had driven him in that instant, he still found himself bewildered by his reaction.

Adama knew that as a young man he'd been as hot-headed as the next, but had learned early to channel his aggression in suitable manners: audacity in the cockpit being a point in common he shared with Kara. _Never_ had he even struck one of his children, let alone a person under his command. As if to contradict this thought, the image of Sharon lying on the ground beneath his throttling grasp abruptly sprang to mind.

That was different, he grimly told himself, then physically turned away to pace across the room.

Halting before the now-empty bar, Adama grimaced in acknowledgment that he'd been drinking heavily lately. Between the loss of Kara and the news of Laura's compromised health, over the past month he had sought to dull the sharp grief…and the fear of more to come, within a hazy of alcohol. Nothing on the scale of his XO's use, he assured himself, but he could now see that his reliance on its numbing effects had steadily grown. Would he have been so harsh, so judgmental, of Lee's choice to actively assist in Baltar's defense if he had been entirely sober? The thought added another layer of regret to the rift between he and his son.

Grimly he realized that there was no denying that his drinking had contributed to his recent behavior, but it wasn't an excuse. Laura's reprimand of his action shouldn't have ever been necessary. No. He knew that the alcohol had loosened his control, yet his choices had still been his own. The feeling of shame cut deeper as he realized how close he'd come to venting his rage on Laura. In that moment when she'd chastised him for striking Kara rather than facing the accusations against Saul, he had started towards her before jerking himself to a halt, blanching at how close he'd come to another violent response.

The decision to forego all alcohol was a mere field dressing for his self-disgust.

Now, scrubbing at his freshly shaved face with both hands, Adama sought to understand the anger that had caused him to hit someone so vulnerable to his actions. His hands stilled.

There was no use denying it.

He was profoundly angry with Kara.

His feelings were inappropriate, right? An ignoble response when he should be thankful that she had returned to them. Where was the gratitude he should feel that she had survived and appeared to be unharmed? But that was just it. Was she unharmed…or were fresh damages hidden away beneath her usual bravado? Appearances had deceived him before, and the thought of her suffering a repeat of her experiences on New Caprica was enough to nearly buckle his knees.

Fear of what the Cylons might have done to his surrogate daughter this time around caught at his breath…and nearly as quickly reverted to anger.

He still didn't understand this gut-rage.

Letting his hands fall to his side, Adama opened his eyes and swept the cabin for the answer he couldn't find within himself. His gaze came to rest on the back of a picture frame. He didn't have to see it to bring up the image of his two boys posed before a Viper. The loss of his youngest was a lingering dull ache, yet it was the circumstances of Zak's death that focused Adama's thoughts.

Kara's decision back then to put her feelings above military protocol may not have directly killed his son, but it had been an undeniable factor. Narrowing his eyes, Adama wondered if he still subconsciously blamed her. Sampling his feelings, he could definitely taste the stale tang of an anger that lingered, but he shook his head. No, it wasn't specifically that incident with Zak, yet…

Yet it was a pattern that she continued to repeat.

She had once again chosen to ignore her duties to go haring off on a quest more likely the result of a hallucination than anything real. Hadn't she learned better after the her unauthorized trip back to Caprica? A residual of betrayal also still clung to those memories. He'd thought he had lost her that time, too. And, as his gaze shifted to the empty space on his worktable where the galleon model had once rested, the recent rending loss threatened to choke him again. The ship hadn't been repairable; its remnants, evidence of his grief-induced rage, had been swept up and tossed.

Was this then the source of his anger; Kara's insistence on following her own course of action, careless of the consequences to not just herself, but to those that cared for her? She might be the daughter-of-his-heart, but she was also a Colonial Officer.

_Damned time she started behaving like one! _

With that thought came the memory of Saul's gruffly admitting that he was a Cylon.

Adama's guilt—somewhat assuaged by his internal reasoning of legitimate causes for his anger—abruptly returned. Regardless of how he felt about her past actions, it had been her attempt to tell him that his longtime friend was a Cylon that had unjustly earned her a slap and accusations of lying.

He dropped his chin to his chest as the realization that it hadn't been his feelings about her reckless decisions that had broken his control, nor his overindulgence of alcohol; it had been her assertion of Saul's Cylon nature.

Despite his XO's confession, Adama still found it nearly impossible to accept that a man he has known for so many years, been through so much with, wasn't the person he believed him to be. Side-eying his feelings, then finally facing them directly, he was forced to admit that his sense of betrayal engender by Saul's confession was as much directed at Kara as his ex-XO.

In that moment, the adage about blaming the messenger took on new meaning.

It was unacceptable—contemptible.

Grinding his teeth, Adama acknowledged that as wrong as Kara's actions may have been, as painful to him personally, she didn't deserve the sort of treatment he'd dealt out. Another scene replayed in his mind now: Kara standing in a cell built for their enemy and accusing him of being just like her parents. His shame deepened now at having proven her correct.

The Admiral straightened. If there was one thing he'd learned from his years in command, it was that there was no way of changing past mistakes; only of owning up to them, mitigating the fallout and trying like hell not to repeat the same ones again.

He owed her an apology.

Whether she would forgive him…he could only hope so.

Another glance at the clock and he debated whether to send for her now. He hesitated, thinking that he really should relieve Captain Agathon in CIC where his new XO was now going on a third shift without a break.

Before he'd come to a decision, a rap on the hatch sounded. The Admiral automatically called out permission to enter before the guard even had a chance to announce the visitor. As the blonde figure in BDUs stepped over the threshold, Adama realized that his attempt to make amends was going to have to come first.

Choosing to face the issue between them head-on, he immediately stepped forward and enveloped Kara in a hug. Her surprise was evident by the stiffening of her posture within his arms, but he held the embrace until he felt her relax. Still, her arms didn't lift to return the clasp. With a mental sigh, Adama knew that this was likely to be as difficult as he feared.

Moving back a half-pace but maintaining their connection with a hand on each shoulder, he gave Kara a searching look. Seeing her split lip, he mentally winced at the physical evidence of his violence. He forced himself to take in the rest of her appearance and felt some relief that the heavy exhaustion visible in her eyes yesterday had eased. She still had a worn edge to her wary expression, but he hadn't expected anything else. After a month's captivity and his own harsh reception, he was afraid that it would take more than simple rest to regain the ground she had made in her recovery before her disappearance.

"Sir, I—" she broke off, obviously unsettled by his greeting.

Taking a breath, "Starb—Kara, there was no excuse for striking you," he began, then paused as she retreated a step herself, breaking his light hold. She looked away then, arms crossing before her as she shrugged.

"Doesn't matter," her neutrally-spoken reply.

"It does. You didn't deserve that."

Another shrug and still she refused to return his gaze.

Studying her, he couldn't tell if she was angry at him, or perhaps worse, that Kara might actually believe that she had earned the blow. Uncertain at how much of the trust he had rebuilt between them had been sundered by that moment, he tried to find words to convey how much he regretted his reaction. At the very least, he owed her a real apology.

"Still…I'm sorry."

She shifted to her other foot before giving him a jerky nod. On an inhale, she finally met his eyes and Adama felt that she was weighing his sincerity. He saw her eyes narrow slightly as she made a decision.

"If you mean it, then give me a Raptor," she said, her tone challenging, and he stiffened in response.

He should have seen this coming.

Pushed aside by the reveal of the remaining Cylons' identities, he'd hadn't given Starbuck's claim to having found Earth any further thought. Additional evidence of how poorly he'd recently performed his duties, he grimly realized. Recalling Kara's passionate insistence that she'd discovered the goal of their forced odyssey, and then her building frustration at his and the President's dubious response, he should have known that she wasn't about to let the matter drop.

The same doubts he'd had the day before quickly returned. Her relating of how she'd flown her Raptor through some sort of space anomaly and found Earth on the other side sounded incredibly far-fetched. A more logical explanation was that she'd had a hallucination brought on by a combination of radiation sickness, stims and her own history of flashbacks. At what point she had been captured by the Cylons was still unclear, but Adama also couldn't ignore the possibility that they might have suborned her memories in some way.

But to what end?

Of their offer of an alliance, the Cylons had to know that he'd suspect a trap.

Was this their plan then? To dangle the bait of Kara's claim of finding Earth as an alternate hook if he refused to rise to their first cast? Was she meant to lure the Fleet into an ambush? Regardless, he was going to have to make a decision soon.

His gaze slid briefly to the hatch, wondering when he could expect a recommendation from Lee on the alliance proposal. Then, chiding himself for wishing for an excuse to shelve this conversation, Adama shifted his attention back to the woman before him. For, as much as he wanted to believe in her, show his support, he wasn't willing to risk her on such an implausible mission. Not after only just getting her back!

He realized he'd taken too long responding when he saw Kara's expression hardened.

"That's what I thought," she sneered, then added, "Afterwards, my momma always said sorry, too."

He couldn't hide the flinch at her comparison, but then his eyes narrowed as he considered whether she was purposefully trying to use his guilt to manipulate him. Her face didn't reveal any answers and he was left with the sour knowledge that it didn't really matter: he wasn't about to change his mind.

Choosing to ignore her remark, "Depending on Lee's assessment of the Cylons' offer, a diplomatic team may be dispatched to the rendezvous point," he said, then mentally kicked himself when she went rigid. "You won't be expected to go," he hurried to assure her, then watched as her arms dropped to her side and she surreptitiously wiped her palms on her cargo pants.

But when she shifted her hands to her hips and her lips lifted in a tight smile, Adama knew she hadn't been distracted from her purpose.

"Then I'm available to go back."

"You want to search for this…this mandala or…wormhole you said you went through?"

"It was there," Kara said. Then, voice rising, "I saw it. Flew into it twice. It was there…and I can find it again, find Earth," she defensively insisted. She saw the pitying skepticism he wasn't quite able to hide and her tone took on a desperate edge. "I thought that's what we wanted. A way to Earth?!"

The pleading note that had slipped into her voice hurt, for he wasn't willing to give her what she wanted. Not when he didn't really believe that she'd found their goal. Not when it meant risking her again so soon.

Unfortunately, he knew how his answer would be taken. Seeking to shift a portion of the burden of refusal to the battlestar's physician, "You know Cottle won't clear you for anymore radiation exposure," he stated.

Flicking that argument aside with a negligent wave of a hand, "I'm fine," she said, then sardonically added, "And it's not like that bothered either of you before."

As the accusation chilled the air between them, Adama grimly recalled his meeting the evening before with those affected by his decision. The Ready Room had been uncompromisingly silent in the wake of his confession, but the betrayed look in his pilots' eyes had spoken volumes. Not only had he sanctioned a mission that had left most of them probably sterile, he'd done so without their knowledge. They had given him their trust and he should have trusted his people in return. The disillusionment in their expressions made it clear that he'd changed that equation.

And now he faced the same consequences with Kara. She was daring him to trust her judgment, to back her in recompense for his earlier deception.

Only…he couldn't—_wouldn't._

His answer must have been visible in his expression, for the corner of her mouth lifted in a sneer even as pain darkened her eyes.

"Right," she ground out, then straightened into an attention stance. "Permission to be excused, _Sir_," her harsh emphasis making it clear she was putting him on notice that his refusal had negated his earlier apology.

Not willing to let their interaction end like this, he said, "Not quite yet, Captain," and watched her lips thin. Clasping his hands behind his back, he regarded her levelly. "I want your opinion on this Alliance offer."

Her nostrils flared and he carefully studied the emotions that flitted across Kara's face. Incredulity was quickly replaced by resentment, undoubtedly spurred by his asking for her input after having just disregarded it moments ago, he guessed. Then an uncertainty he hadn't expected made her glance away. She licked her lips before sharply responding.

"What's it matter what I think?"

He heard the evasion in her reply, despite the derision she'd used as a cover. So…what was she covering for? What had happened to her over the past weeks? Where was her head?

"If I offered to have the Cylon prisoners executed, would you want that?" he cautiously probed, and she blinked in surprised reaction. As she hesitated, his gaze narrowed and he wondered if she was thinking of her husband. Thoughts of the ex-Pyramid player had Adama questioning how she could have never has suspected anything…yet, even in that moment, a mocking inner voice taunted him about his own ignorance as to Saul's true nature. Shying from _that_ lance of betrayal, he refocused on Kara and watched as her arms again rose to cross defensively in front of her before she answered.

"You'd airlock the lot of them?" her tone a mix of disbelief and an undefinable emotion he couldn't pin down.

"Is that what you want?"

Even as his words slipped into the space between them, Adama realized his mistake.

"You know what I want," she stated, her hard gaze challenging again.

Choosing to ignore the implicit demand, "Do you trust Anders?" he asked instead.

Again her eyes flitted away before returning to his; her only answer this time a non-committal shrug. He studied her another moment before grimly admitting that Kara was shutting him out. His recent actions had opened a chasm between them, and he knew that, despite his apology, he'd failed to bridge that gap; that his denial of a Raptor had in fact widened it further. Deterred by the knowledge that no matter how he tried to explain his refusal, she was going to see it as proof that he didn't trust her, he decided to put aside this struggle for another time.

He was just going to have to evaluate the Cylons' proposition without her assessment.

Speaking of which…his gaze shifted to the hatch and he wondered again at the delay in Lee's reporting his recommendation. He must have finished his interrogations by now, Adama thought to himself. He didn't regret choosing Lee for the task, acknowledging in part that he'd done so as a sort of olive branch, but the dominant reason had been his son's powerful—and bluntly legitimate—testimony at Baltar's trial. It galled Adama to know that the smarmy scientist was free and now residing with a group of devotees in a small hold on B deck. Yet, he couldn't deny the pride he felt at Lee's feat in standing up to a board composed of senior officers and exposing the hypocrisy inherent in the charges against the ex-President. At the conclusion of his son's impassioned speech, the senior Adama had seen clearly—perhaps for the first time—how much Lee had matured; growing into a man that was willing to face unflinching a cold examination of his own faults as well as those of others.

Now, as Adama's gaze moved from the clock back to Kara, he had trouble accepting that it had been less than forty-two hours since the end of the trial; so much had happened since.

His mind briefly replayed his encounter with two other blondes the night before. He had had first Caprica Six and then Ellen Tigh brought to his chambers so he could question them individually—and without Lee's knowledge. It wasn't that he didn't trust him to properly debrief the pair, he had just wanted to get a feel himself for what they had to say. He had sought the Six's opinion on her siblings' offer, partially testing her and also figuring that there hadn't been time for the others to fill her in on any treachery they planned.

And then there was Ellen Tigh.

Adama had known he wasn't up to facing Saul, and certainly not mentally ready to impartially evaluate his story, but he'd known Ellen a long time, too. Her methods of manipulating were old hat to him and, having seen her use them often enough in the past on her husband and others, Adama felt he'd be in a better position than Lee to get a proper read on her motivations now.

The encounter had been a surprise.

The woman he'd confronted was undoubtedly the same he'd disliked for years, yet…

He remembered sensing a calmness—serenity almost—that had been previously missing in the past from the ambitious spouse of his XO. And as she'd related waking on the basestar and the reclamation of her blocked memories, it had come to him then that she must have always felt that there was something important missing in her life. He gut said that she'd been completely forthcoming as she'd told her story and answered his questions. And so, when he'd given instructions for her and Caprica to be held separate from the remaining prisoners afterwards, he hadn't done so from fear that she'd taint the others' stories, just that he hadn't wanted Lee to learn that he'd chosen to do a separate debrief. Last thing he needed was his son thinking that he didn't have full confidence in his judgment.

His thoughts circled back around to the young woman that stood stiffly regarding him, and he hoped that Lee was having better luck patching up things between Kara than he was himself. Despite all the issues he'd been faced with when Lee had first escorted Kara from sickbay for her initial debrief, Adama had still been aware of the underlying anger she'd directed at his son. Whatever the problem, perhaps the pair had resolved it since.

With a somewhat impatient sigh, the Admiral pushed thoughts of the labyrinthine relationship between the two aside and straightened.

"I understand Lee's given you his quarters," he began, noting the way her eyes softened at the mention of his son and yet at the same time the line of her jaw tightened. "That's acceptable for now." As her gaze warily narrowed, "You'll continue with Sergeant Mathias as an escort until this issue with the Cylons has been concluded," he informed her.

"Concluded?" she drawled.

"Until we see how this Alliance settles out," he clarified, quickly grasping that she had determined that the resumption of a Marine guard was a sign of his distrust.

_Dammit, it's for her own good!_

He'd meant the Sergeant's presence to prevent a repeat of what had happened after New Caprica. He knew Mathias would discourage inquisitive crewmembers from pestering the 'returned-from-the-dead' Starbuck, while being a stabilizing personality for the emotionally charged young woman. By his reasoning, the assignment had the added benefit of providing him with an objective barometer of Kara's mental state.

The fact that Kara would interpret the Marine's presence negatively wasn't something that he could help. She was just going to have to accept it.

Deciding that it was useless to make further attempts at repairing matters between them when Kara was so obviously ready to read all his actions in the worst possible light, he dismissed her and watched a she swiveled and strode towards the hatch. As the metal door swung inwards at her tug, over her shoulder he saw Doc Cottle standing beyond, speaking with the Marine guard.

The physician's expression on seeing Kara was startled—and Adama thought he noted a hint of guilt before the doctor gave the Viper pilot a nod of greeting. Adama couldn't see Kara's face from behind, but it wasn't difficult to interpret the extra distance she put between them as she moved passed the ship's doctor.

Adama grimaced as he realized that this was another relationship damaged by his decision to withhold information from his people.

As Cottle stepped into the cabin and the door clanged closed behind him, the Admiral forced his hands to unclench, but, on seeing what Cottle held, his hands immediately fisted again at his side. The familiar manila of medical folders sent a stab of fear along his spine. The physician must have Laura's tests back already and, judging from the doctor's bleak expression, the results weren't good.

Delaying the moment when he'd have to hear the news, Adama moved around the desk and sat. He gave a short nod toward the opposite chair and tried to keep his breathing steady as Cottle hesitated before taking the indicated seat. The Admiral studied the man, watching as one age-spotted hand make an aborted motion to his overcoat pocket before returning to clasp the medical records before him.

Both men sat in apprehensive silence then, neither quite willing to meet the eyes of the other. Finally, Cottle gave an irritable shrug and leaned forward to place the two folders on the desk between them.

On looking down, Adama eyes widened in confusion as he read the names identifying the records. Quickly shifting his gaze back to Cottle, he frowned, perplexed why the Doc had brought Kara and Saul's medical histories to him. And why the man looked like he'd rather be any place but here right now.

"I ran the damned test three times," Cottle finally said, his own gaze dropping to the twin folders. Then he lifted his eyes to meet Adama's. "The results are conclusive… Kara Thrace is Saul Tigh's daughter."


	134. Chapter 134 Slide

Chapter 134 Slide

"…Kara Thrace is Saul Tigh's daughter."

Adama sat motionless as he waited for Cottle's words to make sense, because he couldn't have heard correctly the first time, so if he gave it a moment, what the doctor had really said would properly register. Yet, as the seconds ticked by and the elderly physician continued to regard him with an uneasy expression, the reality set in: he'd heard right the first time.

A tightness in his chest warned that he was holding his breath and Adama sucked in a lungful of air only to gust it out as words failed him. Disbelief played dodgeball with chaotic questions as the world shift around him.

"You…you're certain—"

"Course I am!" Cottle cut him off, a scowl pulling his bushy eyebrows together. "Wouldn't be saying it if I wasn't." He poked at the manila folders with an index finger. "Three times. Same results. Those two have the DNA markers that you'd only expect to see between parent and offspring."

"But how…?"

"I expect the usual way." At Adama's darkening expression, Cottle raised a hand. "Ask Saul, but I'm thinking that Hera Agathon isn't the first natural born Human/Cylon hybrid."

The doctor's comment about the Agathon child only served to confuse Adama further. Was Cottle implying that Kara was a hybrid instead of a previously unsuspected Cylon model? Yet, that didn't make sense. If the Cylons had the ability to reproduce—have had so for years now—then all of Athena's assertions were a fabrication.

Unwilling to discard the hard-won confidence in the Eight, he pinned the doctor with an accusing look. "You said Kara wasn't a Cylon."

"No, I _said_ that she would've had to have been born one," Cottle sourly corrected. "I stand by that. Her medical history, the x-rays, _they_ don't lie." Adama heard the Doc's clear statement that if there was a problem with the facts, it wasn't to be found in the surgeon's report.

He pulled the top file towards him, but didn't open it. The doctor was right in that stories could be faked, but not test results. Yet, even as he completed the thought, Adama realized that that wasn't necessarily true. Tests could be wrong, just look at Baltar's supposed Cylon detector!

Or perhaps…

"Someone tampered with the samples," he started, but Cottle was already shaking his head.

"I collected them myself from Thrace and the Colonel," insisted the physician. "No one else had access or likely expected me to compare the two. Only reason I did was I wanted to see if there was any discernible difference between those Cylons in the Fleet and the previously known models. I used Sharon's sample since I had it onfile, but I only decided to use Thrace's as the human control because it was still up on the slide from earlier." He shrugged. "Pure coincidence that I was comparing hers to each of the others."

The denial Adama had erected at Cottle's initial assertion began to fracture beneath the surety in the doctor's tone. He slumped back in his seat, feeling concussed by all the ramifications. As a hand lifted his wrist, Adama opened his eyes, only then realizing that he'd closed them against a wave of dizziness.

"I'm fine," he insisted, trying to reclaim his arm.

Cottle ignored him, eyes focused on his watch as he tracked the Admiral's pulse. Finally releasing him with a grunted "_Humph_", the physician took a step back, but continued to regard him with professional concern.

Adama looked away, his gaze again falling on the file folders and their explosive contents. A part of him wanted to order the doctor to destroy the documented evidence. Considering Cottle's past actions, he was certain that the man could be relied on to follow those orders and keep his silence, too. Sherman Cottle's loyalty was one of the few remaining things Adama was certain of in that moment. He leaned forward then, palm pressed flat on the nearest record as he sought some balance between duty and his emotions.

What would the consequences be if Cottle's findings became widely known? Once word spread of how highly placed the latest revealed models were, would the Fleet survived the revelation that the famous Starbuck wasn't entirely human either? Would Kara survive it? A sick shudder shook him as he remembered the traumatized young woman huddling in a dark recess of crates in the hanger bay. How would she react to this latest shock; especially when he was still uncertain of her mental stability in the wake of her most recent captivity, dared he even tell her?

As if following his thoughts, "Thrace is resilient," Cottle said, moving around the desk to resume his seat. Adama's eyes lifted as the doctor continued, "She'll get through this. She's still the same obstinate, contrary young officer you brought aboard some four years ago, you know." At the Admiral's uncertain look, "On New Caprica I treated Cylon and Human alike, and I'm telling you that there's less difference between the two than either side wants to admit. Just assuredly as Lee's your son, Kara Thrace was someone's child. A DNA slide doesn't just wipe away all that's girl's done for the Fleet." At the man's pause, Adama could see growing irritation in the physician's expression. Then Cottle gave a low growl of disgust and leaned forward.

"Dammit, Bill, you know her…and you know Saul Tigh," Cottle stated curtly. "You doubting who they are? What side they're on, after all this time? Get your head outta your ass, Bill. You should know better."

Adama jerked, Cottle's bitingly terse defense of the pair and his personal reprimand drawing Bill up short. He didn't want to discuss the topic of Saul's identity, not yet at least. He gave the Medical Officer a quelling look that seemed to have little effect as the man reached forward and flipped one of the files open. Both of their gazes dropped to the photo of the blonde Colonial pilot with short-cropped hair and a defiant stare.

_She looks so young. _

Too young, Adama thought, far too young for the wary expression evident in those green eyes. Especially in this, a picture taken _prior_ to the end of the worlds. Then Cottle flicked the second chart open, too. Faced with the side-by-side images, and now aware of their genetic link, Adama could see some resemblance in more than just the pair's general attitude.

"They're your family," Cottle's words pulled his gaze up. "Whatever these say," tapping one of the charts, he continued, "You know the truth…_that_ truth hasn't changed."

He understood what Cottle was trying to say, yet there were still so many unanswered questions that the physician's words about truth made his grimace. Saul might be able to clear some of them up—if Adama was willing to trust him. In the meantime, Cottle might be able to clarify a few.

"Do you know who Kara's mother is—was?" he asked, stumbling over the proper tense when he wasn't sure of the woman's status.

"Not Ellen Tigh," Cottle's quick reply. "Checked her first. Not even a close match." The doctor rubbed at his jaw in thought before going on. "Took samples from the President's aide, Foster, and also from the Three, that Biers woman." Here the physician's brows dropped sharply. "That's one to watch," he warned. "Met her on New Caprica. Seemed a reasonable sort then, but…well, it's not like I really knew her, yet something's different now."

"You sure it's the same Three?"

A shrug, then, "Possibly not," the Doc conceded. "Not sure it matters whether she's another copy or something's happened since, don't trust her, Bill. Not in actions or words."

At Adama's thoughtful nod, Cottle seemed satisfied and reached forward to retrieve Kara's medical chart from the desk. He thumbed through the top few pages before lifting his gaze again.

"I've checked Thrace's DNA against all the models," he said. "Assuming that there _are_ only twelve total, then there's no way any of the female Cylons is her biological mother."

Adama frowned at the suggestion that there might be more models than they'd been led to believe. What did he really have to go on as proof, after all? Just a note left anonymously in his room and the word of an Eight. He shifted uneasily in his seat before deciding that he had to take some things as a given. So, until proven otherwise, he had to accept that Kara's mother had been human.

Thinking back over the years he'd known Saul, and considering Kara's age, Adama tried to figure when she must have been conceived. She was less than two years younger than Lee, so that would mean that it had to have been during the time after Bill had been recalled to the Fleet, but before he'd been able to push through Saul's reinstatement. By then he'd lost track of his friend's location and the MPs had had a time tracking the man down to offer him the Captain's commission Adama had finagled for him. He did know that Saul had stayed with the same cargoship they'd served on together for another year before getting himself grounded again, but the subject of what he'd done after that had never come up between the two since. Adama _had_ sensed that it had been an especially dark time for his friend.

Regardless, it was a discussion they were now going to have to have soon.

Adama leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk and forehead supported on his interlaced fingers as he glared down at the file labeled Saul Tigh. He'd heard before what the Doc was saying about family, and if it were only him at risk, Bill realized that he was willingly ready to accept that Saul's and Kara's origins didn't matter in how he felt about the pair. But, as the Admiral, he had responsibilities that demanded he rely on more than his heart and gut in making decisions. Just because _he_ felt they deserved the chance to prove their allegiance, didn't mean that others would agree.

Beginning with the President.

Thinking of how Laura might take this latest news, the knot of worry for her constricted further. As much as he might want to avoid causing additional stress when he was aware of her physical condition, he recognized that she would have to be fully briefed on this development.

He scrubbed at his face, then closed Saul's file and slowly rose.

"Does any of your staff know of these results?" As Cottle shook his head, "Keep it that way," the Admiral ordered. "We can't have word of this getting out now. At least, not until a decision's been made on the Cylons' offer of an alliance."

"You're seriously considering it?" Cottle asked as he stood, too.

Adama's grasp on the folder tightened. After a long pause, "Yes," he answered finally. "I've assigned Lee to debrief the prison—the parties involved and prepare a recommendation. It's a risk—"

"Huge one," Cottle cut in, then shrugged as the Admiral gave him a hard stare. "Not saying it's not the right one. I'm for trusting Saul Tigh, and Chief Tyrol's always been a solid man, too..." the doctor trailed off with a grimace then. "Well, mostly. There was the time he attacked that young Specialist of his."

Adama's eyes widened as he recalled the incident the ship's surgeon was referencing. He'd forgotten how badly Cally had been hurt: her jaw broken and face badly swollen by the violence of the Chief's blows. At the time, the assault had been dismissed as an anomalous reaction to some nightmares Tyrol had been having. And the man had certainly proven himself steadfast since. Viewing the event in hindsight, though, the Admiral had to wonder if there hadn't been more to the attack. Perhaps some latent programming?

It gave him pause.

Then his eyes fell upon Kara's record held in Cottle's hand.

Anger and shame vied in him again as Adama conceded that one didn't have to be a Cylon to turn on those they were supposed to protect. The injuries documented within the manila cover were evidence enough that a human mother had inflicted years of abuse upon a vulnerable child. His own recent actions just served to grind that point home.

Acknowledging his own guilt, he then purposefully shunted the emotion aside. He couldn't let himself be distracted, not when Cottle was giving him a concerned look.

"An alliance has advantage for the Fleet," he said reluctantly, returning to the prior thread of conversation. "We can mitigate many of the risks, but, yes, it's a gamble."

"What isn't," Cottle's reply more a statement than question, and Adama had to silently agree.

As the two men moved toward the hatch, the physician neutrally said, "She tolerated the Doloxan well," causing Adama to come to an abrupt halt as he realized whom Cottle meant. His eyes sought some sort of reassurance in the doctor's face, but the man just gave him a noncommittal look. "I'm doing all I can for her, and that woman's got enough gumption for a platoon, but, like I said, it's all a gamble." With that, Cottle pulled open the door and stepped through without waiting for any further questions his words might bring on.

Watching him go, Admiral Bill Adama murmured to himself, "Sometimes you've gotta roll the hard six."


	135. Chapter 135 Push Me, Pull You

Chapter 135 Push Me, Pull You

As Kara's furious stride carried her away from the Admiral's cabin, she ground her teeth in frustration. She'd thought—been certain really—that the Old Man would agree to backing her mission now that he'd had time to consider that the payoff was Earth.

_One frakkin' Raptor! Not like I was asking to jump the whole Fleet!_

With her head down, she didn't notice how those in the corridor hastily stepped aside to clear her path. Nor would she have cared, so caught up in the conflicting signals she'd gotten from Adama. His apology for hitting her had been unexpected—though, she shouldn't have been too surprised, she thought. Hadn't her mother sometimes said she was sorry afterwards, too?

Kara's steps abruptly faltered to a halt as she realized something: her mother's apologies had only come on those occasions that had necessitated a trip to a doctor or the hospital. The majority of the time, all the slaps and cuffs had been followed up by harsh words, proclamations that she'd only gotten what she'd deserved. Kara slowly frowned. Why then had the Old Man felt the need to apologize? He'd seemed genuinely upset over the blow. Didn't he know that she'd regularly had worse just from sparring in the gym?

She touched her sore lip, still perplexed why he'd even bothered. Sure, there were regulations against striking other Service personnel—and if anyone should know that, it was Starbuck—yet it wasn't like there was anyone to report him to, even if she _had_ been so inclined.

She gave a brief headshake. It didn't matter.

Apologies wouldn't get them any closer to Earth.

For that she needed a Raptor, and whatever contrition the Admiral had felt hadn't been enough to secure her one. Or even a measure of trust, Kara thought as she lifted her head and noticed Mathias in her peripheral vision. The urge to turn on the Marine and tell her to 'Frak-the-hell-off!' roiled upwards from her chest, and Kara had to clamp her jaw shut to keep the words locked inside. She reminded herself that the Admiral and President didn't trust her because they thought she was frakked in the head again. An outburst now wouldn't exactly help her case.

Turning slightly to avoid having to see her guard, Kara muttered an oath. How the frak was she supposed to prove she hadn't 'lost it' again, hadn't hallucinated the whole mandala and Earth thing? Everyone knew how difficult it was to prove a negative…and yet Kara knew that she'd have to find a way.

She debated her options.

With her hopes dashed that the Admiral had reconsidered her request in light of the revelation of Saul and the others, whom else could she enlist on her side? The image of Roslin, perched uncertainly on the edge of the bed in sickbay, came to mind. Was it worth another go at convincing the woman?

As the memory of the President's questions about the four unaccounted for days, and her later inquiry about Kacey, flashed to mind, Kara felt lightheaded and uncomfortable. Last thing she wanted was to face another confrontation with Laura. She didn't have any more explanation now than she'd had before. And until she could resolve the missing time, she didn't think Roslin would be willing to support her taking a Raptor and heading off again alone.

And as for Kacey…

Thoughts of the little girl no longer brought the same sharp guilt that it had before her earlier talk with Athena, and Kara had the sudden urge to see the child again. She uneasily wondered if Kacey had missed her or—more likely—forgotten her in the long weeks she'd been gone. Kara's stomach twisted at the thought. It was with hesitant steps that she again started off along the corridor. Then she silently chided herself for caring; the kid would or wouldn't remember her. She'd deal either way. Picking up the pace, she turned right at the next junction only to stumble back as she collided with another person. A hand quickly grasped her elbow, steadying her, and Kara looked up into blue eyes.

"Hey, take it easy there, Kara," Lee said, his startled expression shifting to one difficult to read as he released her. Face-to-face with him so unexpectedly, Kara found herself at a loss for words. Lee's gaze flitted over her shoulder to where Mathias, rounding the corner on Kara's heels, had moved a discreet distance away to lean against a bulkhead. His gaze returned to Kara's as he asked, "You already spoke with Dad?"

His question stirred her prior frustration and Kara took a half-step back before replying.

"Yeah. Not that it did a lot of frakkin' good."

"What?"

"He still won't sign off on a Raptor," she explained. Then her irritation shifting to Lee at his continued look of confusion. "_Earth_, Lee," she huffed with an indignant wave of her hand. "I just need a chance to go back. I can find it again. I know I can."

As understanding crossed his face, he shoved both hands into his pants pockets and looked away.

Frowning at his response, "What?" she demanded.

"Kara, I just…" he trailed off, but his eyes came back to meet hers and Kara saw the worry in the crease of his brow. After a stilted moment, "You just got back," he said as if that were explanation enough.

"So?"

His eyebrows lowered as a muscle ticked in his cheek. She saw the effort it took for him to take a breath and loosen his jaw enough to answer.

"So, Kara? So, we just got—," he was interrupted as HotDog came around the corner, bumping Kara's shoulder as the younger pilot swerved to avoid slamming into her.

"Uh, s-s-sorry, Starbuck," Costanza stammered, his face reddening as the two officers glared at him. He gave them a quick nod and hurried on, not daring to look back.

Hearing Lee mutter a low curse, Kara swung back to face him.

"Look, I've got my report to give the Admiral, then I'm free," he said. "Can we talk after? Somewhere private?"

The mention of his report reminded Kara that Lee was supposed to finished interrogating the prisoners and make a recommendation concerning the idea of an alliance. Curiosity over his results warred with anger at the Admiral's continued dismissal of her claim to having found Earth.

Curiosity finally won out.

Ignoring his request to talk, "You think the Cylons' offer is legit?" she warily asked.

Lee's eyes narrowed as he replied, "I do…but this isn't the place to discuss it. After?" At her grudging nod, "Where you off to?" he asked. "I'll come find you."

She hesitated. Did she really want to explain why she was going to the refugee camp? But then, on seeing doubt and worry shade Lee's eyes, "Camp Oilslick," she reluctantly answered, and watched his expression clear. At his small nod of understanding, some of her tension eased.

"As soon as I'm done then," he said, and it was Kara's turn to nod.

Lee moved past her with a lingering glance over his shoulder.

Only after he'd rounded the corner out of sight, did Kara manage to twist her head away and resume her prior course.

Sometime later, after having received an excited _'Kawa!' _and big hug from Kacey, she sat now on Julia Brynn's cot, a worn children's book held in one hand and read to the little girl on her lap. As she flipped the last page closed, she was surprised to find that Kacey had fallen asleep in her arms. Recalling her flashback—_vision?—_ while in sickbay, Kara lowered her head to the unruly curls and apprehensively sniffed. This time all she smelled was the familiar scent of Galactica's standard-issue soap. Both reassured and yet strangely disturbed at the difference, she tightened her hold around the sleeping form.

"Here, I'll put her down," Julia offered, and Kara looked up to find the other woman standing before them.

She swallowed an automatic protest, not ready to surrender the warm body curled so trustingly against her own. Her arms ached in protest as she forced herself to relinquish the child, grudgingly letting Kacey's real mother carefully gathered the girl into her own arms. After watching Julia settle her daughter onto the second cot and tenderly cover her with an olive-green blanket, Kara looked away. Would she always feel this sense of loss? Athena's words about loving Kacey came to mind then. It was useless to pretend that it wasn't true. Useless to pretend that those weeks caring for the little girl hadn't changed her, hadn't dredged up a longing that Kara had never expected to feel.

As her bleak gaze wandered across the crowded hold, it was abruptly halted by a familiar figure.

Kara caught her breath as she met Lee's eyes and recalled a long-ago discussion about bright and shiny futures. She'd been resigned then to a short and violent end…and absolutely certain that the last thing she wanted was the burden of a kid. Yet, as their gaze met through the milling refugees, the desire to have a family together ambushed her heart.

_When I find Earth, then maybe—_

The thought was abruptly cutoff, the sprig of a brighter future snapping as she recalled Simon's revelation about radiation-induced sterility. Even if she found a place where the Colonials could settle, there would be no children in any home she built.

The whipsaw between an unlooked for hope and the bitter truth clawed at her throat and Kara had to turn away from Lee's gaze before she could take a shuddering breath.

Her distress must have been visible to Julia, for the woman worriedly asked, "Is there something wrong?"

Pasting a tight smile on her face, "Gotta go," Kara managed, then stood and took a course through the aisles of cots in the opposite direct from where Lee waited.

She fled the refugee camp through the far hatch and took the first side corridor she came to, mindless of where it led, responding to the need to put as much distance between herself and the source of this unexpected pain.

Coming to a dead-end, she spit out a curse and retraced her steps.

She had just passed the last junction when she heard Lee call out from behind her. "Kara, wait!"

The urge to ignore him and bolt prompted another surge of adrenalin, priming her in preparation for escape. Only the knowledge that he would see her flight as a rejection locked her feet to the corridor's plating. She couldn't do that to him. Not his fault she'd got some stupid-assed notion in her head, she derisively thought.

Forcing herself to turn, she saw Lee come to a halt some ten feet away, confusion and hesitancy in the tilt of his head as he gave her a questioning look. Her eyes flicked over his shoulder as Sergeant Mathias appeared in the corridor beyond him. The Marine glanced between the two and moved a distance down the narrow hallway.

As Kara's gaze slid back to his, Lee demanded, "What the hell, Kara?"

Unsure of how to explain, her gaze dropped.

He waited, but when she didn't answer, "What was _that_ about?" At her continued silence, frustration deepened his voice as he asked, "I thought we were going to talk?!"

"About what, Lee?" she finally responded, her gaze lifting to challenge his.

He stalked to within a foot's proximity, invading her personal space. Kara was acutely aware of his harsh breathing.

"_About what?"_ he incredulously huffed. "How about what happened to you these past weeks? How about explaining where'd you get the cut lip and bruised cheek. Or, let me think…oh yeah, maybe why the_ hell _you saw me and bugged out in the opposite direction!"Leaning even closer, he snapped out, "Yeah, how about we start _there_, Kara."

She forced herself to hold steady beneath the onslaught. It was difficult though; part of her wanted to shove him away, yell that is was none of his frakking business; while the cowardly part, the side of her that responded with avoidance, urged her to just walk away again, to escape the emotional mess that was she and Lee. She balanced on an axis, seeking an alternative to her usual frak, fight or flight response to him.

Discerning her internal conflict, Lee's tight expression softened. He raised a hand to slowly run a finger along her tensed jaw and she blinked in surprise at the gentle touch. Swallowing, she tried to interpret this shift from anger to concern.

"Talk to me, Kara."

At the pleading note in his voice, she opened her mouth to try…but again was at a loss how to put into words the glimpse she'd had of them as a family. Instead, she worried her bottom lip and heard Lee sigh as his hand fell to his side. He took a step back, and Kara's gaze once more met Mathias' over his shoulder. She saw the other woman's frown before the Sergeant quickly wiped it away.

With the reminder that they weren't alone, Kara muttered, "Not here," and saw Lee's eyes became cautiously hopeful.

"I still need to get my kit from quarters."

At Lee's reminder that he'd given up his cabin for her use, Kara lips thinned. It bothered her that he had…and that there'd been the need in the first place. The Sergeant's presence still rankled, a constant proof of the Admiral's distrust. Why the hell couldn't the Admiral just believe her? Surely with the Colonel's confession, the Old Man had to know the rest of her story was true, too. So why couldn't things to be the way they were before!? She made a face, so frakkin' sick of being treated like unexploded ordinance, primed to go off at the slightest bump.

None of them seemed to get it. This wasn't about her; it was about finding a new home, about finally being able to stop running.

_It's about locating Earth. Didn't they frakkin' understand that?!_

As determination replaced the paralysis induced by her chaotic emotions, Kara straightened her shoulders and, without a word, turned to lead the way back to her new quarters. She'd realized that she needed Lee, needed him on her side to find the mandala, and thus Earth. And if that meant answering a few of his questions…then she'd suck it up and do so.

With the Sergeant left standing guard outside the closed hatch, Kara crossed to the unmade bunk and perched on the edge, meeting Lee's eyes where he stood just inside the cabin threshold regarding her with a quizzical expression.

"So…what do you wanna know, Lee?"

She saw his eyes widen and could tell that she had surprised him with the offer. With an effort she held his gaze, and after realizing that she'd crossed her arms defensively, forced them back to her side, palms pressing into the thin mattress instead as she waited.

There was a long moment of silence as Lee studied her. Then her eyes narrowed as he abruptly turned and moved to the room's locker; the screech of metal grating on her nerves as he opened it. When the contents seemed to unduly hold his attention, Kara grew impatient, unsure how to take this response. Wasn't this what he wanted, answers from her?

She fidgeted, about to demand what his problem was, when, without looking back at her, he finally spoke. "Who hit you, Kara?"

The neutrally voiced question wasn't what she'd been expecting. Seeing no reason to lie, "The Old Man," she replied, and saw Lee's back twitch at her answer.

"Why?" Hearing the underlying strain in his tone, her eyebrows rose in confusion.

She shrugged a response. Then realizing that with his back still to her, Lee couldn't have seen it, glibly said, "Guess he didn't like what I had to say about the Colonel."

"He hit you…because you told him Saul Tigh was a Cylon?"

"Guess so," her clipped reply coming as she wished Lee would turn the hell around so she could get some sense of what he was thinking. As his hand gripped the top of the locker door, knuckles whiting against the metal, she cautiously stood. "Doesn't matter, Lee," she said, puzzled by the renewed anger she sensed coming from him. The Admiral had to know about the Cylons in the Fleet. She'd had to tell him. Surely Lee knew that? This wasn't her fault. It wasn't like she'd frakking _made_ the XO a Cylon!

When Lee twisted to face her, she studied him, searching his face for every nuance, trying to pin down how she'd upset him now.

"He hit you, and it damn well _does_ matter, Kara."

Relief flooded her at the realization that his fury wasn't directed at her after all. Then the confusion returned as, with a grimace, she became aware of how closely this conversation was mirroring the Admiral's apology. She didn't understand why either man was so adamant about such a small thing; it had only been a slap. Wasn't like the Old Man had beaten her or anything.

She gazed at him steadily, noting how Lee's head bow briefly before he took a breath and leaned against the metal cabinet.

"And the Cylons," he prompted, "they hurt you, too?"

Grateful for the change of his focus, "No," she quickly answered, then at his skeptical look, added, "They didn't _do_ anything. Kept me locked up." She gave a dismissive shrug. "Nothing happened."

"And Leoben?"

Kara hesitated now, not wanting to discuss the Two when her own reactions…on the Heavy Raider—and to the male Cylon in general—were such a tumultuous mess in her head. Lifting a hand, she rubbed at her temple, wondering how to convince Lee to drop the subject. As he shifted and strode to stand before her, Kara grimly realized that he wasn't about to let her evade _this_ question.

"What'd the bastard do to you, Kara?"

"Nothing!" she repeated, and started to spin away, but Lee's hands closing on her elbows held her in place. Resisting the urge to yank free, Kara instead met his concerned gaze and sought a way to answer his demand. "He didn't. He was a perfect gentleman," she drawled, then snorted at the irritating paradox of Leoben's courteous manner to his obsessive behavior.

"Then why kill him, Kara?" As her gaze fell, his voice turned sour. "Oh, that's right, _Sam_ shot him." Kara's jaw clenched as her eyes came back to meet his intense blue glare. He waited, but when she didn't respond, his voice pitched up as he demanded, "Why Sam? Why not do it yourself, Kara?"

She tried to return his glare with a matching one of her own. The effort was futile, though, as with self-loathing she acknowledged the reason she'd spared Leoben. She'd recognized the male Cylon's remorse…and it's familiarity had fed into something she'd felt for him in return. In that moment she had been incapable of putting him down permanently. Now, it just seemed further proof of how deep the taint he'd left her with went.

When Lee's grip on her arms tightened, and he mockingly said, "Since when does the mighty Starbuck let someone else fight her battles?" the weight of his taunt further tightened the fierce ache in her throat and a spasm in her chest increased. She was choking. White noise filled her head. As her breathing turned ragged, Lee's hands eased and shifted to her shoulders.

He gave her a gentle shake.

"Just tell me why, Kara."

"_BECAUSE I FRAKKIN' COULDN'T!" _

As she realized what she'd revealed with the shouted confession, her eyes widened. Shame rolled through her. Lee would know. He would finally see the corruption Leoben had maneuvered past her defenses on New Caprica; a rot that had spread within her. Sure, she had hated Leoben, still did, and yet… The memory of standing over his bleeding form and seeing an anguish in his eyes that had nothing to do with his mangled leg flashed to mind. What she'd felt then—she shied away from naming it—but it had thrown her back to the faux-apartment and her forced declaration of love. How many times in the months since returning to Galactica had she'd told herself that they were just words, merely an act to fool the Cylon and nothing more? Yet on the raider when she'd lifted the sights of the gun to Leoben's pain-twisted features, she'd felt the fissure in her emotions…and had been unable to pull the trigger.

No wonder the Admiral and President doubted her. The decay that eroded the underpinnings of her emotions must be obvious to them. She sneered at herself at the realization that the Admiral probably had sensed it that day in the rec room, discerned the pernicious cancer Leoben had sown in her psyche.

And despite his later attempts to retract the words, Adama been right.

Her mother had been right.

Leoben had made it so.

Even now she could still feel the Two's contamination oozing through her thoughts.

The weight of eyes on her forced her reluctant gaze to Lee's. Expecting to see condemnation in their depths, Kara was surprised by the compassion she glimpsed instead. His hand rose to gently cup her bruised cheek.

"Hey, Kara. Look, it's Ok," he said. "He's dead. That's what counts."

Pulling from his grasp then, abruptly afraid that she might somehow pass this infection on, Kara shook her head. She had to warn him, make Lee understand that he should keep his distance.

"I didn't want him dead," she said bluntly, and watched the disbelief widened his eyes.

"I don't—"

"No, Lee, you don't, and that's just it. You don't understand."

"Well, then _make_ me, Kara! Explain it to me!" he said, voice roughening with exasperation. "After all he did to you, how can you not…" he trailed off then, blinking before closing his mouth.

Misreading the reason for his abrupt silence, Kara twisted away and crossed the cabin, desperate to flee the revulsion she was sure was to come next. Her hand had just closed on the wheel when Lee's palm slapped against the hatch beside her head.

"Oh no, Kara. You're not running. Not this time"

Spinning to find him practically on top of her, Kara tried to access the ready anger. All she found now was fear. She'd barely managed to survive Lee's antipathy before: first after the debacle with Baltar and again after her rescue from New Caprica. Yet she knew that this time was different. This time she would come apart. His judgment, now that he'd learned that she actually had _felt _something for her Cylon captor, would shatter her completely.

The realization that her emotions had betrayed her, that there was a part of her that actually cared whether the Two lived or died, ate at her. Made her feel dirty.

Kara struck out then, palms on Lee's chest, thrusting him away before she'd even known that she'd intended to move. Her harsh breathing filled the narrow gap she'd created between them. She scrubbed her hands along her pants before crossing them in front, thoughts of leaving forgotten in her need to protect Lee from getting too close.

His startled expression took a moment to clear, and he retreated another step, seemingly satisfied that he'd prevented her flight and willing now to give her space. Though he didn't say anything, his silence was expectant as he seemed willing to wait her out.

Unwilling to meet his probing look, Kara's gaze skittered away, settling on the coffee table propped against the side wall and the two stacked footstools beside it. Had only been hours ago that she had moved the furniture from in front of the small couch? Just to increase the openness of the private cabin, she'd told herself last night before crashing for some much needed sleep. Now she wondered if the compulsion for a more utilitarian look was because of the unease she'd felt at how 'homey' the room had appeared. No, she'd just wanted to change things up. Lessen the reminder that Lee and Dee had shared these quarters.

It had nothing, she insisted now, nothing at all to do with memories of a certain apartment cell on New Caprica. Nothing to do with a certain Cylon.

Forcing her gaze from the offending furniture, her eyes shifted back to Lee. His gaze wasn't on her now, fixed instead on a point to her left. He was waiting. Waiting to see what she did next. Tightening her arms around herself, Kara realized that she couldn't run. He was right in that at least. There was nowhere far enough away to escape her own memories. And besides, she needed Lee, needed him on her side.

Frakkin' chance of that now, she thought with an internal scoff; she'd probably ruined any likelihood of gaining his support. Actually, she was certain of it if he'd understood what her confession meant.

Well, she couldn't leave.

Best to get through this then. Be vague. Maybe she could distract him, get away without revealing—further proving—exactly how messed up the Cylons had left one Kara Thrace.

Reluctantly she crossed the short distance and sat, pressing herself into the far corner of the couch. With a defiant tilt to her head, she lifted her gaze. Her eyes narrowed then as she considered Lee. He had moved to lean against the brushed-metal table; an attempt on his part to appear relaxed belied by his white-knuckled grip on the table's edge.

When he finally broke the stillness, Lee's voice was cautiously neutral. "Prisoners have been known to grow attached to their guards." A pause. "Is that what this is about, Kara?"

She wet her lips. Of course she'd had heard of situations where hostages had bonded with their captors, yet the idea had always seemed ludicrous to Kara. With a mental sneer she admitted that maybe—_maybe—_some airbrained debutante might be deluded into thinking herself in love with one of those 'bad boy' types, but if Lee was suggesting that her own conflicted responses to Leoben were the same thing, then he was the one that was seriously frakked in the head!

"You're joking, right?" Jerking her chin up. "You think that I give a shit about some frakkin' Two?"

"You tell me, Kara," said Lee. "Why didn't _you_ kill him when you had the chance?" his tone challenging. "Certainly wasn't to protect some mission. And you damned well weren't trying to protect the Cylon _delegation_." He paused then to run a hand up over his face, obviously trying to curb his frustration. After taking a breath, he continued in a calmer tone, "Sam said it was you that shot Leoben in the first place; and then you…what, Kara…gave Sam the gun to finish him off?"

"It wasn't like that," she muttered, shifting beneath his dubious regard.

"Then how was it?"

As her silence stretched, Lee abandoned his casual pose and straightened. "You know what I think," continuing then without checking whether she wanted to know or not, "I think that Leoben knew _exactly_ what he was doing on New Caprica. He controlled every facet of your daily life, Kara. Had authority over your most basic needs: food, shelter…safety." As her gaze wavered, a minute shudder moved through Lee's body and he took an instinctive step towards her, halting when she stiffened. With a grimace, he said, "That kind of forced dependence…yeah, it's frakked up." He waved a hand, agitation roughening his tone again as he said, "Gods, Kara, it'd be a wonder if you _didn't_ feel a connection with him."

"Bullshit." Her voice harsh.

Ignoring her dismissal, Lee relentlessly pressed on, "You said it yourself, Leoben portrayed himself as your protector…your guide…right?" Not pausing for an answer. "And then there's Kacey. Knowing your history, he brought in a kid, calculating that you'd feel protective of her. He deliberately fostered your reliance on him. If not for yourself, than for Kacey's sake."

"No." Her denial sounded weak to her own ears.

He waited, but when she didn't add anything more, "In War College, we covered a whole course on interrogation techniques," he grimly stated. "Both how to use and resist them. Some of the things they described—," Now it was Lee's turn to look away as he broke off, swiping a hand across his mouth. He swallowed several times before continuing, "When I think of what you went through...," His gaze swept the room before coming back to hers. "Thing is, everything Leoben did was intended to create a rapport between you two. He set out to manipulate your emotions." Adding careful emphasis, "It's _not_ your fault, Kara, if you felt something for him," he said.

"Felt?" she jeered. "What I _felt_ for the bastard was hate, Lee."

"And it's possible to hate someone and still have _other_ feelings." His words were a sharp reminder of their own history, filled as it was with the sawing back and forth over that line that separated the two extremes.

Lee moved to take a spot on the other end of the couch, eyes focusing on a point across the cabin instead of her now. She was grateful that he held his distance. But when he spoke again, his next words disconcerted her.

"You know, Kara, I read debrief on your return to Caprica, and spoke with Helo, too." Her breath stilled as she wondered where Lee was going with this. The feeling of unease deepened as his tone turned hesitant. "Helo told me…he told me about the Farms…and what you had to do," As the memory of Sue-Shaun threatened to blur her vision, she blinked repeatedly as Lee went on. "…about your pact with Anders. How you made him promise not to let you be taken alive again. I've also read Athena's report that the Cylons had made plans to try matching humans up with some of the models. Try to recreate what she and Helo have." He turned slightly to face her, sympathetic eyes seeking hers. "New Caprica must have felt like the Farm all over again."

His words brought it all back in a rush.

_Women strapped down—Violated by the tubes and wires of machines._

_A rescue mission gone to shit—Pinned down in a bunker , Sharon stating that the Cylons would use gas…would take prisoners. _

_The detention center on New Caprica—Leoben coming to take her to his 'special place' . _

She was drowning in the memories, gasping for air. A touch on her arm stalled the spiral of panic. Still, Kara instinctively knocked the hand aside as she tried to fight free of the suffocating images.

"Gods, Kara, I'm sorry! I didn't think…,"

As if from a distance, she heard Lee's mortified apology trail off. She fought to slow her breathing, and then, with a wrench, the cabin steadied around her. Despite the sweat that glued her tanks to her back, Kara shivered in the aftermath of the flashback. Her head had begun to pound, too, and her throat ached.

She took another measured breath and waited for the rush of adrenalin to fade.

She hated this.

She had been strong before. Had relied on herself. Now her own mind was her worst enemy; her memories a minefield primed to blow her back into a hellish past.

Kara pressed the heels of her hands against her closed eyes, wishing desperately to go back to a time when war was a simple thing. Sight and fire. One more Cylon raider blown back to whatever frakking assemble line it had come from. Leoben had it wrong. She wasn't meant for this. This destiny crap was the President's thing.

Opening her eyes, Kara realized that she'd defensively pulled her knees to her chest. Forcing herself to unclench, she lowered her legs and scrubbed clammy palms along the material of her cargo pants.

As the cushion beside her shifted slightly, she realized that Lee was close. She could feel his regard. His concern rolling off him in palpable waves.

She let her eyes slide to the side to meet his stricken blue ones.

"Forget it," her voice scratchy, but steady now.

"I can't, Kara." Lee lifted his hand to reach out to her, but at her flinch, let it fall to rest in the space between them. His sigh sounded overly loud as he considered her, then said, "Forgetting's not working for you, either. You've got to face this." At her scornful glance, he ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting away and back. "Look, Kara. It's not like I've a psych degree here, but hell, I don't need one to see you're beating yourself up for something that isn't your fault. This was done to you. _To you, _Kara. And understanding _why_ you feel this way has to help, right?"

She wanted to scoff at him, dismiss what he was saying. But this was Lee. And his lack of condemnation confused her, allowed his words a foothold against her self-loathing. So she grudgingly scrutinized her time with Leoben on New Caprica. Anger and fear had alternately filled her initial couple of months trapped in the apartment, with rage taking center stage in her repeated attacks on her jailor. Yet the fear had always been hovering there in the wings. Lee was right that she had been totally at the Cylon's mercy. A subject to his whims. And despite the Two's assurances, the dread had been a constant with each invitation he made that this time, this night, Leoben would finally tire of her refusals and force her into his bed.

And, though she had tried not to think about it, there had always been an underlying fear that he'd lied about the Cylons having a Farm on New Caprica. Neither D'Anna nor the Six had ever hinted at its existence, and Kara even recalled a fuzzy memory of Simon once trying to reassure her that he wouldn't be doing any reproductive procedures. Regardless, for those months she had been forced to live with the barely suppressed terror that if she pushed Leoben's patience too far, she'd one day meet the same fate as Sue-Shaun.

Later during her captivity—after her emergence from the catatonic state—Kara had reached a point where she'd been ready for it all to just end. Her failed attempt at slitting her wrists hadn't been some cry for help. She'd been done. Sick of trying to hold on any longer. When she had finally accepted that the Fleet wasn't coming back for those left behind—_for her_—the weight of all the fear and pain had dissolved into unbearable despair.

Leoben might have thwarted her first try, but Kara had made a oath that, at least in this, she'd take back control of her life…even if it was with the choice of her own death.

Kacey's accident had changed all that.

Praying for the little girl's survival and feeling the joy, the lifting of overwhelming guilt, when the child had finally awoken, it had given her a renewed sense of purpose. A reason to live as Helo had once put it. So much so that in that last month together with Kacey and Leoben, Kara had suppressed the urge to kill the Two. Had, in fact, even sought to placate him, determined to do whatever it took to protect her 'daughter'.

Leoben hadn't demanded anything more than civility from her.

Not, at least, until it came time to take Kasey with her back to the fleet.

Kara closed her eyes, but that just intensified the memory.

_His lips on hers. _

_His mouth demanding she match his hunger. _

A shudder swept through her then as Kara faced the truth. The kiss had meant nothing. It was the words Leoben had forced past her lips that had damned her.

Now she wondered when in those weeks Leoben had induced this pitiable yearning for the pseudo-family the three of them had formed. A worse thought then occurred to her. Was that where this crazy new fantasy of Lee and her with a child had come from? Her gut clenched at the idea that she might have once again confused Apollo with the Cylon male.

Fighting down bile, she realized that Lee was right: that Leoben had played her; that he had probably just been continuing his mind games on the basestar and later on the heavy raider. Likely, the Two's haunted expression she'd taken as remorse had been an act, too. He'd goaded her to shoot him. In that moment she'd actually thought he was seeking a form of absolution for his sins. She'd fallen for it. A frakking idiot to once again have bought into his hyperbole.

_Gods, how stupid can I get!?_

What other explanation could there be for why hadn't she shot him when she'd had the perfect opportunity? The bastard had warped her thoughts, her emotions. He'd frakked her up…in more ways than one.

"Kara?"

As Lee's voice pulled her from the bitter reflections, she pushed all that away. Reluctantly meeting his gaze, Kara was relieved to see none of the revulsion she'd expected. She thought she glimpsed pity in his eyes, though, before he cleared his expression. It her teeth on edge; she didn't want that from him either.

"It doesn't matter," she said through gritted teeth. "Doesn't matter who shot him, Lee. The frakker's finally dead."

"Leoben may be gone," agreed Lee, then neutrally added, "but there are other Two's."

Her breath hitched as the reality of what he'd said struck home.

She'd actually forgotten.

There were many copies.

Except...

"No," she murmured. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lee raise an eyebrow. At his questioning look, she sought to explain, "Other copies, yeah, but none of them…none of them _Leoben_." In her mind she replayed something the Cylon male had told her on the raider. "They can only share memories when one of them dies…dies and downloads. And even then it's a choice. Have to jack-in to access them or something. And Leoben said—" she faltered, abruptly uncertain. Had the Two lied again? With a shake of the head she shook off the momentary doubt. She had come to believe Leoben, at least on this one point, so she continued. "He said that he'd kept his downloads separate. Said that the other Twos had agreed to leave me to him…and Leoben swore that they weren't privy to the details of what had happened on New Caprica."

"You believed him?"

She barked a harsh laugh, but then followed with a half-shrug and admitted, "Not at first. Leoben insisted that the others only knew what little he'd _told_ them. He showed me a cartridge. Said it contained every download of his from New Caprica. Claimed that he'd had a Six hold onto it between times—for safekeeping."

"Why? Why exclude the others?" Lee frowned, but then his eyes narrowed and his lips turned up in a grim smile. "He was jealous. Didn't want to share those memories—_share you—_with the others."

Kara's her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her tanktop. She'd guessed the same thing when she'd pressed Leoben for an explanation…and his refusal to answer had been the reason why she was willing to accept what he'd said about the downloads as truth. Jealousy. The desire to have something just for yourself. That at least was something she could relate to.

"He had the tape on the raider with us."

"So…if he was telling the truth…none of the other Twos…" Lee trailed off, probably considering what that meant for Kara and any future interactions she had with the surviving copies.

Following his course of thought, she wasn't surprised when he gave her a searching look as he carefully said, "If the tape was with him, then it's onboard Galactica now. We can find and destroy it." He'd left unspoken that with the download gone then the Leoben that had so twisted her up would also be gone…permanently.

An ache she didn't want to acknowledge kept her response to a jerky nod.

Lee's appraising gaze lingered before he took a breath and ran a hand along his jaw. His expression was unreadable now, and Kara's eyes slid away as she tried to come to terms with him knowing the turmoil she felt over the Cylon male.

"And Sam?"

The words were so quietly spoken that Kara wasn't sure if she'd heard right as she twisted to face the man at her side. Seeing that he'd crossed his arms and was giving her an expectant, and strangely vulnerable, look Kara wet her lips.

"You mean Sam the Cylon." Her grim smirk dared Lee to throw her husband's revealed identity back at her. But his frown in response appeared more frustrated than gloating.

"No, I mean Samuel Anders, the guy you married on New Caprica," he sourly answered, and the hurt accusation she sensed behind his word stiffened her back.

"Do you love him, Kara?"

_Crap. Crap. Frakkin' hell._

She wasn't ready for this now. Not with Lee.

Reminding herself that she'd offered to answer his questions, that getting Apollo's support was more important than avoiding the awkwardness of this conversation, Kara forced a reply. "No." A pause. "At least…not like you mean." Recalling her epiphany on the Heavy Raider, "I still have…have feelings. He's still _Sam_." She grimaced then. "The Lords of Kobol know how I _wanted_ to hate him. When I first saw him…when I understood how he'd…what it meant that he was alive." Her hands clenched at the remembered betrayal and rage.

"But you don't?"

"Don't what, Lee," she mocked, "love or hate him?" As Lee's expression fell, Kara felt a flash of shame throw its heat across her face, guiltily aware that what she felt was as much displaced anger as frustration at having to have this conversation now—or at all. The gods surely knew how useless she was at this. Oh, she could talk smack, no problem. Could ream a nugget six ways to Aerilon or put a superior asshole in his place, yet when it came sharing her feelings, her words failed to launch. Her default response: go on the attack.

And yet everyone kept insisting that she'd _feel_ better by talking things out, she silently huffed. When a small voice in her mind tried to remind her that things _had_ improved after her sessions with Laura and Sharon, she ignored it. None of this was really important anyway. Lee shouldn't be pressing her about Leoben, about Sam, they had nothing the frak to do with finding Earth!

Unprepared to delve further into the maelstrom of her emotions for the three men, Kara deflected.

"Neither, Ok. Sam's the past, and what I need now is a Raptor. So how about you getting me one, Lee."

He blinked several times, his bewilderment at the change of subject apparent in his frown.

"What?"

"A Raptor, Lee," she chided. "You suddenly gone deaf?"

"Stop frakking around, Kara," he said, tone impatient. "What's a Raptor got to do with Sam, and where are you planning on going?"

"Earth" she replied, annoyed at his obtuse response.

"The mandela," he said in consternation as her prior demand caught up with him.

"I can find it again. Just need some time and a ship." She frowned as Lee shook his head. "You think I can't?"

"It's not that, Kara," he hastily assured her. "It just too dangerous. Going back into that radiation. You barely survived the first time." There was fear underlain in his voice, but she chose to ignore it.

"It's Earth, Lee. Frakkin' _Earth!_" One arm waved in frustration at everyone's disbelieving response. As Lee's hands lifted in a placating manner, forgotten was her earlier resolve to calmly reason with him. "Godsdamnit! I didn't make it up!"

"I believe you," at her scornful look, "I _do,"_ he insisted. "We just can't risk you…," he faltered, then started again. "You don't know how it felt, having to once more leaving you behind. Having to attend your memorial service. _Gods, Kara, I—"_ he broke off, jaw flexing.

As remembered grief sharpened the planes of Lee's face, Kara's irritation faded. It was all she could do not to reach out to smooth the tight lines that framed his mouth.

Pulling her gaze from his lips, "I never intended…," she began but trailed off, knowing what a poor excuse it was for the pain she saw in his eyes at her supposed 'death'. Frak-it-all. It wasn't like she'd planned the whole thing! Kara closed her eyes, recalling the absolute certainty she'd felt when she'd made the decision to enter the mandela. In that moment she'd truly believed that this was what she'd been destined for.

_And I was right!_

Memories of the joy she'd felt on identifying the constellations confirming Earth's reality vied now with her disgust at not being able to clearly remember the coordinates back. Sure, while on the basestar she had purposefully tried _not_ to bring the string of numbers to mind, afraid of the risk that she might eventually betray humanity by revealing Earth's location to the Cylons. After all, what she couldn't remember_, _couldn't be wrung from her, right?!

But now, when she was desperate to recall them, all she could visualize were a confusing mix of digits. She rubbed a finger between her brows, trying to force the superimposing numbers into a coherent sequence. They stubbornly refused to cooperate.

Finally she gave up with a low growl that seemed louder than it should have.

"If I knew another way, I'd try it, Lee," she said. "If I could only remember the coordinates…," Giving another frustrated sigh, she tried again to explain. "Some of it's clear. I entered the mandela, woke in a star system that exactly matched the one from Athena's Tomb and after saving the coordinates to the NAV system, I jumped back through to return to Galactica." She paused, and when she continued, her words came slower, but he didn't interrupt. "I-I don't know what went wrong. Why the Fleet was gone when I got to rendezvous point Cappa. I don't know, Lee, how days passed for you and only hours for me."

Lee moved, a hand lifting towards her, and again Kara flinched, leaning away against the couch's armrest.

"Frak it, Kara," Lee's hurt tone brought her gaze back to him and she read his dismay at her reaction, "I wasn't going to hit you."

"I know, it's just…," she faltered, unsure why she'd recoiled. Then she realized it was _herself_ she didn't trust—not Lee. All this talk about her responses to Leoben and then the unaccounted for time had stirred up her doubts again. "I saw Earth." The words came pleadingly now, and she honestly wasn't sure which of them she was trying to convince. "I saw Earth, Lee. The shape of it, the smell of it, the feel of it on my skin—in my pores—and I swear to you that it was like I'd been there before. Like I'd never left."

She searched his eyes, desperate for some proof that she hadn't completely lost her shit. The concern in their troubled depths did little to reassure her.

Her gaze fell. "Or maybe the mandela—Earth—was never there. Maybe the Cylons found me in the radiation storm. Captured me. Brainwashed me." The idea that her memories might be just a continuation of the mindfrak Leoben had started on New Caprica made the room spin. "Maybe I'm a frakkin' Cylon, Lee," she said, and dropped her head into her hands as she sought to perceive whether her thoughts where her own.

Lee's shoulder brushed against hers as she felt him scoot closer. Lifting her head, she saw him extend an open palm. She reached out with her left to grasp his proffered right hand. He gave a squeeze and some of her doubt eased.

"I believe you, Kara." The sincerity in his voice brought her head further around. "I'd trust your eyes any day. You saw what you saw." Lee bent their joined hands and lightly rapped her forehead. "You're rattled, not programmed."

"So you don't think I'm nuts?"

"I didn't say that," he replied with a sideways smirk, his tone taking on a teasing edge. "You're a raving lunatic, as demented and deranged as the first day I met you."

"And you're a bastard," she quipped back, her mouth turning up in an instinctive grin at the familiar banter. But then her lips tightened again as she haltingly said, "I don't know, Lee. I passed out…more than once. And…and I remember the feel of Earth. And yet," her voice wavered, "I…I can't remember landing." She shook her head, conflicting memories superimposing once more over each other and renewing the fear that somehow the Cylons had found a way to imprint false ones into her mind.

Lee's next words rejected her escalating despair, offering a more reasonable explanation. "You were coming down from the stims. And, what with the effects of radiation poisoning, Kara, it's not surprising that your memory's a little muddled." He ducked his head to catch her eye. Doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"And the missing four days?"

"Who can say." His shoulder moved in a shrug against hers. "If the mandela was a wormhole of some type, maybe it distorted time. You could ask Gaeta." A frown abruptly darkened his expression, and Kara wondered if he was reconsidering his confidence in her.

Shifting on the couch to better face him, his hand still firmly gripped in hers, "Come on, Lee. I just need a Raptor," she pressed, circling back to her original purpose, knowing that only in find Earth again could she completely silence the doubts—her own and others.

He reached out and closed his other hand over their clasped pair.

"Kara, I can't. I'm sorry, I—," he broke off in the middle of his refusal. Kara could see an idea sharpening his gaze and her sinking hopes took a leap.

"Listen. Let me speak with Dad" he said. "I think I've got another option." When she opened her mouth to demand specifics, he interrupted. "No, just let me talk with him first, Kara. _Please_."

Without releasing her hold, she stood then, eyes searching his face as she fought the urge to insist he spill whatever he was going to propose to the Admiral. Yet trust ran both ways, and she reminded herself that if she wanted Lee to believe in her, she was going to have to respond in kind. Worrying her lower lip, she gave him a reluctant nod as he rose to face her.

"I'll be back as soon as I've discussed it with Dad," Lee promised. And, with a last squeeze of his grip, dropped his hand and strode towards the hatch. After what was probably meant as a reassuring glance over his shoulder, he was gone.

Sinking back onto the couch, Kara tried to still her hands, wondering what she'd do if this option of his—whatever it was—fell through. Tapping her fingers on the armrest, she started to devise and discard different methods of covertly commandeering a shuttle.

After all, a Colonial Officer should always have a contingency plan in place.

Just in case.

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry for such a long hiatus. Health issues for myself and family, combined with other stuff in real life slowed my writing to a crawl. Add in a substantial dose of writer's block and it's been far longer to complete this chapter than I ever expected. Well, at least it's the size of two chapters in one. I will try to make the next installment more timely.

My continued appreciation to those that read and review.


	136. Chapter 136 Pre-Fall Recollections

Chapter 136 Pre-Fall Recollections

The guard opened the hatch and, with a wave of his gun, motioned the Colonel to enter. Stepping again into the room where, the night before, he'd been questioned by Lee Adama, Saul was only slightly surprised to find the older Adama this time. And seated at the Admiral's side, Laura Roslin. The sight of the service pistol that lay flat on the table in front of the two did cause him to raise a derisory eyebrow.

"Wait outside, Corporal."

At the Admiral's command, the Marine gave Saul a wary look before responding with a brisk, "Yes, Sir." And it was with obvious reluctance at leaving the two leaders of the fleet alone with a traitor and skinjob that the younger man stepped out. Or, at least, that's what Saul figured at first, then wondered if his guard had wanted to stay in hopes of finally seeing the XO get his comeuppance.

_Damned kids didn't get it._

He'd always found the younger troops frustrating. In his opinion, the years of peace they'd grown up in had made them undisciplined, and unprepared for the harsh reality of the day to day struggle for survival that had come with the fall of the Twelve Colonies.

His memories might be false, implanted images cobbled together from who knows where, but they were the foundation on which Saul had formed his behavior. And he understood that it was the second-in-command's job to push. Push and keep pushing. Any XO worth his salt forced his people do better, become better. It was the 2IC that kept the crew on their toes, maintained discipline, and prepared for the worst. It might not be written in the official Fleet Regs, but it was still part of the job description: be an asshole so the commander of the ship wouldn't have to.

Not that Saul gave a wit for how the exiting Marine viewed him. It was the two people at the far end of the conference room whose opinion mattered. Well, one of them. As for the President…it was only what influence she had with his commander that concerned Tigh now.

"Sit."

The Admiral's omission of Saul's rank wasn't lost on him as he moved the few steps to the chair positioned at a significant distance from the waiting pair. He took the indicated seat, back straight, hands splayed on his thighs as he waited for their judgment.

As the silence stretched, he began to wonder why they didn't just get this charade done and over with. Wasn't like he didn't already know the outcome. Only question was if he'd be getting a bullet to the head like a traitor or tossed out an airlock like a Cylon, and, with a wry grimace, he supposed either would do the job. It was what he deserved. He'd held back information from his CO. Hidden the truth of what he, and the others, were and put the ship at risk in doing so. Ellen insisted that they weren't sleeper agents, weren't programmed to betray _Galactica_ at a key moment, but he couldn't be certain.

Oh, he'd said otherwise to Tyrol and Foster. Vowed that he'd be the man he wanted. But really, what control did he have over what he did? Ellen swore Cavil had been more interested in punishing the five of them that had disagreed with the Ones' vision, than in using them as secret pawns against Humanity. Yet, if it had been Saul, he figured the most suitable punishment would be to set them up to destroy what they'd thought they were protecting. Could the shifty bastard really not have seen the same opportunity?

He supposed it didn't make a lot of difference. The fact was that one Saul Tigh was a skinjob, and it didn't matter that he'd never chosen to be one. The Admiral shouldn't—couldn't—trust him. Saul lifted his chin then, determined to take whatever punishment his commander thought appropriate. He forced himself to meet Bill's opaque gaze.

At the Admiral's continued silence, the corner of Saul's mouth twitched.

"Guessing you're not about to suggest that I pick that," a nod towards the sidearm, "up and shoot you."

"Not this time," Adama flatly answered. Then he laid a hand over the weapon, pausing a moment before purposefully sliding the pistol to the side so the barrel no longer was aimed directly at Tigh. Saul let out a silent breath, unsure if he was relieved or disappointed that this apparently wasn't to be a quick verdict of his guilt with a swift execution to follow. His gaze moved then to the President as she began to speak.

Making it clear that her words were shared by the man at her side, "We need answers," Roslin said. "Your explanation… Let's just say that there are parts that concern us."

Saul's gaze shifted back to the Admiral, interpreting his friend's willingness to let Roslin take the lead as evidence that Bill didn't trust his own judgment—not, at least, where it concerned Tigh. Made sense. Saul knew that his friend had come to doubt his ability to be unbiased when it came to decisions about those closest to him. He also knew Lee's choice to abandon his duties as CAG had hit his father hard. And now, what with Thrace's return from the dead and Saul's revelation as a Cylon, it didn't take years of friendship to know that Bill was reeling from too many blows at once.

Rubbing his palms along his thighs, Saul became impatient.

"So ask. I'll tell ya whatever," he said, then added, "though, there's not much you don't already know."

"Start a—"

Adama abruptly interrupted the President to snap, "Why?" as he leaned forward on the table, elbows braced and hands clasped before him.

The accusation in Bill's voice crossed the distance to strike at his former XO, and Saul flinched at the harsh bite behind his commander—his friend's—demand. Why was he a Cylon? Frak if he knew! But was that what he meant? Saul's eyes narrowed. Not likely, he realized. Bill was looking for a reason for Tigh's not coming to him when he'd first discovered the truth. Though, with a mental snort, that should be pretty frakking obvious, he thought.

Giving a vague gesture at the space between them, "This, of course," he gruffed out in reply, then held himself steady beneath the weight of the other man's scrutiny, refusing to let his gaze waver.

Bill Adama broke first, his eyes shifting to the woman at his side. Roslin picked up his cue.

"Colonel Tigh, if you would start from the beginning," she formally said, resuming her original line of questioning as if the interaction of the two men had never occurred.

"I'm thinking you want to skip my childhood, seeing as how it never happened?" he smugly asked. At her laconic nod, Saul resisted a smirk. But where to start? Honestly, what could he add not already covered in his debrief with Apollo?

"You gotta understand," he slowly began, "I don't know what's real or not." As Roslin's brows rose, he added, "Ellen says she remembers, Anders, too, but I'm guessing that's 'cause they downloaded...resurrected, or whatever the frak."

After considering him for a moment, "I believe we can assume that anything prior to the First Cylon War is suspect," stated Laura. "So tell us what you did after leaving the Colonial Service."

With a small nod, he gave them a sparse account of the years between when he'd believed he'd mustered out of the Fleet until the time when he was reinstated as a Major under Adama's command. Roslin listened attentively, letting him tell about those intervening years as he saw fit. She did eventually ask that he elaborated further on his adjustment to civilian life. Refusing to shirk the responsibility for his past actions, Saul's neck grew warm as he recounted his growing dependence on drink to get by. He occasionally faltered, recalling his increasing inability to find—and hold—jobs as a pilot, and then eventually even as ground crew. Bill remained silent throughout.

When he reached the point in his narrative where he first met up with Adama, he ground to a stop, unsure whether to go on. Searching the Admiral's stoic expression for any hint of his thoughts, he found his friend unreadable.

"Proceed, Colonel."

At the President's neutral command, Saul continued. He spoke of their time together on the freighter, of the familiar camaraderie he'd missed so since leaving the Service, and he watched for any corresponding emotions in his friend's eyes. Again he was met with a blank wall. A flicker finally disturbed the surface of Adama's craggy features when Saul mentioned that, after having been kicked off the cargo vessel, he'd taken up again with a Marine he'd known from years earlier.

"This Marine, she have a name?" asked Roslin.

The very mildness of her tone drew Saul's gaze sharply to her. What was this? Did they think he'd had contact with the other models during the armistice? Had the President thought she'd spotted what was evidence that he'd known all along of his Cylon nature? Well, he wasn't sure how to prove otherwise, but he saw no reason to cover up this relationship.

"Socrata Hanston," he said. "She was a decorated Sergeant in the Colonial Marines."

As Saul saw both react, he straightened further in the chair. What the frak was going on here? The name meant something to them and he couldn't think what it might be. Searching his memory for any indication of what could interest them in a woman long since dead, he came up blank. Over the two periods of time he'd spent with Socrata, nothing in particular had happened to hint of her involvement in anything furtive. No terrorist attacks on Caprica. No mysterious connections to rebel organizations that could have been a cover for early Cylon infiltration. Just time spent with a volatile woman that had made his life alternately better and worse.

"This woman, how did you meet?"

Roslin's question was neutrally spoken, but he could still see the tension in the tightening around her eyes.

He frowned, but answered, "Probably thinkin' I met her in a bar?" his mouth quirked up, "Not so." His gaze wander to the side as he recalled first laying eyes on the Gunnery Sergeant. The blonde spitfire had been standing, hands on hips, outside the Caprica Base commissary laying bare all the deficiencies in a Lance Corporal's family tree. Amused, Saul had stopped to listen, leaning against a nearby post to enjoy the show. By the time the Gunny was done, the subject of her tirade had paled beneath his suntan and gone glassy eyed.

Recalling that moment, Saul realized that he should have known what he was getting into. But, _godsdamn_, it'd been a long time since he'd been with a real woman. And there was something about this one that attracted him. The fact that she'd turned out to be more than he could handle was as much his fault as hers he had to admit. Maybe if he hadn't turned to liquor to drown his frustration at the scut jobs he'd had to accept, things might have gone differently.

He shook his head. No. Not likely.

Pulling back from distant memories of fiery nights and even more fierce fights, Saul admitted that there had always been something lacking in their relationship. It wasn't until many years later when he'd met Ellen, and felt the instant connection, that the missing piece had finally snapped into place. Still, other than Ellen—and Bill—his time with Socrata had been the only other significant relationship he'd ever had…well, that he could be certain had actually ever happened, he conceded.

Returning to the President's question, "We met on base," he replied, then elaborated, "She was still in the Service. I was on Caprica Base finalizing some paperwork—just picked up a job, a subcontract of sorts—and encountered her reprimanding one of her troops. She was…," he paused, searching to define his first impression, finally settling on, "…a formidable woman. Reminded me of my DI, only a hell of a lot better lookin'." A smirk had lifted Saul's mouth, but his expression soured as he realized that any memory before the war was likely a fabrication. Including any of those set during basic training. He glanced at the pair and knew they were thinking the same. He pushed all that away and resumed his explanation. "Afterwards, I asked her out for a drink and…," He waved in a _you get the picture_ kind of way, figuring they could deduce for themselves what came next.

"So, you approached this person first?" asked Roslin. Saul jerked a nod in response. "And you'd never seen her before," a brief pause, "or a copy of her since?"

At her inference, Saul scowled. "She wasn't one of them. Might not have known back then, but certainly would've recognized her now…if she was a...," he faltered, then leaned forward slightly. "She wasn't a frakkin' Cylon," he growled. Switching his glower to the silently observing Admiral, "What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "You really thinkin' I was part of some Toaster cell? Had something to do with the attack on the Colonies?!"

Adama's gaze shifted away, and for just a moment Saul read the conflict in his friend's face. But as the Admiral brought his eyes forward again, the mask had returned.

Speaking only to his friend now, "Whatever the frak I am, I never betrayed you. Never did less than my duty as a Colonial Officer," said Saul fervently.

A strained silence followed. Roslin cleared her throat.

"As you say, Colonel," she said, then made a placating gesture as Saul sent an irate glare her way. "We're willing to believe, based on your statement here, that this woman wasn't one of the twelve models." Another wave to forestall an interruption. "But we do need a detailed account of your time prior to joining _Galactica_. So, tell us, how long did your relationship with the Sergeant last."

"Don't know how's this got anything to do with now, but if discussing my love-life's what floats your boat, Madam President…," Saul took some satisfaction in the thinning of Roslin's lips before he continued. "Like I said, I'd lined up a steady gig, making runs between the Colonies. Legit stuff. General parts and supplies. Nothing special, but it paid the bills and got me back in space." His attention drifted briefly as he scrutinized the memories for any indication that Cavil had been watching him. Shaking that thought aside as a distraction, he went on. "Job was going good. And the Gunny and I had an arrangement; when I was on-planet, I'd stay at her place. It was base housing, almost like being back in the Service."

He muttered an oath then, recalling how everything had started to come apart.

"There was this kid, a know-it-all that couldn't take orders worth a damned," he said, tone reflecting disgust at the recalled insubordination. "Trouble was, he was a nephew…or cousin, or some such pup of the shipping line's CEO." Saul nodded as understanding crossed Roslin's face. And he couldn't help letting his gaze slide to Adama's as he added, "Kid complained that I wasn't treating him fair. Caused a stink and I lost the contract."

Yup, Bill recognized nepotism at work, Saul could see it in the way his friend's clasped hands tightened. One of the things he'd always respected about the Admiral was that he'd always tried not to let Lee's relationship to himself play a part in his decisions. Tried, even if often not succeeded.

Returning to his account of what came next. "I was blacklisted. Service wouldn't send anything my way. Private sector not much better." He rubbed his hands along his thighs, recalling the frustration that had built with each closed door. "Had to take scut runs. Mostly in-atmo, a few ones now and then intra-system, but…," he trailed off.

"You were living with Sergeant Hanston during this time?" asked Roslin.

"Had to. Wasn't making much and we'd settled into a regular thing."

They were waiting for him to go on, but he didn't see what more to add that he hadn't already covered in his initial response. The fact that Socrata' always lively temper had gotten worse as his own had frayed wasn't anyone's business but his own. What, between his coming home after fruitless days looking for prospects—and too many hours warming a bar stool nursing grudges at the powers that be—his relationship with the woman had soured. Eventually he'd left. Things for him had only gotten worse from there.

He wasn't aware that he was glaring down at his fisted hands until Roslin's voice abruptly jerked his gaze up.

"What happened?"

A shrug. "Went our separate ways." His gaze sought Adama's. "Had to take what jobs I could get then. Eventually signed on as a deckhand on a cargo ship." Bill shifted then, and Roslin glanced between the two men.

"That's when the two of you met?"

"Yes," Bill's curt reply answered for the both of them.

Again thick silence descended on the room.

Clearing her throat again, "You said you were asked to leave the ship," she prompted.

"Asked?" his muttered response. "Guess you could call it that." His thoughts turned dark as Saul recalled his duffel being chucked after him as he'd been unceremoniously escorted from the tramp freighter. His latest brush-up with his crewmates had left him limping, and he supposed he was lucky the Captain had at least waited until they were planetside before throwing his ass off. Not that he'd felt particularly grateful at the time.

"Colonel?"

The President's prompt pulled him back from his bitter recollections.

"When the basta—," catching Adama's scowl, Saul corrected himself, "when the _Captain_ refused to issue my last paychit, found myself on Caprica with little money and fewer prospects." He scrubbed at his jaw, the beginnings of a stubble reminding Saul that he'd not had a chance to shave this morning. Of course, it was nowhere near the ragged beard he'd sported when he'd departed the freighter. Personal hygiene hadn't been on the top of his concerns at the time. With his duffel bumping against a painful back that had taken a few punches, he had shuffled off base and into the nearest bar.

She'd found him there; a pitifully small pile of cubits scattered before him beside a growing stack of shot glasses. As he'd tossed back his current drink and ordered another, he'd felt the disapproval rolling off her in waves, alerting him to someone at his side. He'd nearly slammed the now empty glass down on her hand as Socrata had reached for his remaining funds, but recognition had held him back at the last instant. He'd twisted on the stool then to give her a blurry once over. Dressed in casual BDUs, she'd obviously just come off-duty and had probably stopped in for a few before heading back to her small flat. What were the chances, huh? He vaguely remembered waving at the vacant spot beside him and offering to buy her a round, figuring that, what the hell, he hadn't planned on leaving the premises until he'd spent the little he'd had left to his name.

Hanston had had other ideas. She'd stuffed the bits of coin in his pocket and helped him to his feet. With an arm slung over her shoulders, Saul fuzzily recalled stumbling the few blocks, and past smirking guards at the base checkpoint, back to her place before finally collapsing on her couch. The following hours were a blank, but he'd woken, it was to a pounding head and a note from Socrata saying that he could stay, at least until he'd had a chance to get his shit together.

Saul grimaced. Her offer had been genuine, and for a time he had pulled himself out of the depressive hole he'd sunk into, but it had only been a temporary reprieve.

As if able to read his thoughts, "You stayed with an old friend." Roslin said. "Perhaps Sergeant Hanston?"

"For a few months," he confirmed. "Still couldn't get work. The _Mastiff's_ captain hadn't been shy about spreading stories of why he'd cancelled my contract. The basta… Well, he'd made damned sure to get his side out first." He shook his head, knowing that not all the fault lay with his shipmates. After Bill's departure, and after a year's waiting for his promised help to come, Saul knew that he'd grown more surly and difficult. For people stuck together in the cramped quarters of a cargoship like the _Mastiff_, clashes were a given. He'd just become the primary instigator of them.

"After a time, she got sick of my excuses and I got tired of her harping."

His gaze wandered the conference room, finding little to catch his attention as he recalled the months that followed. Piss-poor jobs working for piss-ant bosses. Drinking away most of what pittance of money he'd earned until he'd reached the point when he'd had enough. One last splurge. A cheap brunette to avoid memories of past encounters, a cheap room for one more night…and the most expensive bottle of ambrosia he could afford with the little he'd had left over. Only the Marine at his door, with the offer of reinstatement into the Colonial Fleet in hand, had stalled his planned end.

The eyes he lifted to finally meet opaque blue ones across the distance were cloaked in regret.

"From the day I re-upped," his voice hoarse, "I swear I've done nothing but what I thought you wanted."

"You've lied to me…for weeks now," the accusation came harsh and low from Bill's lips.

He gave a jerky nod. No use denying it. "Should've told you when I first realized. Didn't know how. And," pausing to run a hand across his mouth, "was a damned coward."

"Nonetheless, we know now," said Roslin. She glanced at the man at her side and Saul heard her sigh before she continued. "The question is, what do we do from here, Colonel?"

He didn't have an answer for her. If he was in their shoes, if it had been revealed that Bill Adama was a Cylon, had been one all along, what would he choose to do? Watching his old friend consider just that dilemma, Saul grimaced.

He was surprised then when the Admiral spoke, not to address what had been said—and the decision yet to be made—but to shift topics entirely. Or so it seemed.

"And this Alliance, you believe it's a legitimate offer?"

Saul's hands reached to tug at the hem of his dress jacket, only to touch the material of orange coveralls, ones issued to replace his uniform after his shower the prior day. His fingers fidgeted at the cloth's unfamiliar feel and it, more even than the space set between himself and his commander, reminded him of his new position. He wasn't sure why Adama was asking him, but Saul wasn't going to hold anything back now. He thought over the explanation Ellen had given him, the words and descriptions of what Anders had seen of the civil war that had torn the Cylon models into factions, and he tried to judge where the Fleet's best interest lay in the resulting mess.

"Hell if I know, Bill," he replied, then, "but Cavil, him I've seen enough of first-hand on New Caprica. Seen what that one's like. If these rebels, if they can help us take out the other frakkers, I'd put 'em on a short leash and let them chew each other up."

"But that's just it, Colonel," interjected Roslin. "An alliance would require our people to join in this 'dogfight'. What assurances would we have that these new _allies_ wouldn't turn on us at their first opportunity?"

"Test 'em then." At Roslin's raised eyebrow, "Short leash, Madam President. We need a joint mission. An objective important enough to prove whose side they're on, but limited enough to reduce the exposure of the Fleet."

As Adama ran a hand through his hair and sat back, Saul's gaze sought his and he tried to guess what the other man had decided. For it was apparent that he'd come to some conclusion.

Before Saul could venture a question, a knock on the hatch heralded company.

"Admiral,…Madam President," the Marine gave them each a nod on entering, "Captain Thrace as you ordered," and Saul watched, perplexed, as the guard ushered Starbuck in before once again leaving. He saw his own confusion reflected in green eyes as they traveled from the pair at one side of the room to where Saul still sat at the other end. Obviously unsure of what she'd walked into, Thrace held her place by the entrance while snapping to attention.

Then Laura Roslin briskly said, "Thank you for joining us, Captain Thrace."

* * *

A/N: So, this chapter came together quicker than usual. Can't promise that the next will be as swift, though I'll try!

Reviews really DO encourage the creative process :)


	137. Chapter 137 Percussions

Chapter 137 Percussions

As Lee Adama left Kara behind in his prior quarters, his thoughts were chaotic. And he realized he _still_ hadn't removed his stuff and would need to return later for it. Perhaps after he'd had a chance to run his idea by his father.

Dodging around a crewmember that was servicing one of the hall's lights, Lee's pace slowed as he replayed the revelations of the past hours. He'd been both pissed and concerned when he'd followed Kara from the refugee camp. She'd seen him. He knew she had, yet she'd purposefully chosen to avoid him once again. This dance of theirs reminded him of something he'd once seen in a wild Caprican night club where people moved to the heavy beat, throwing themselves at others only to carom away again after each impact. This similar feeling that he was making progress with Kara only to have her recoil off onto another trajectory was so damned frustrating! Sure, he knew she was dealing with massive issues. As Lee had told her, he didn't need any special training to see how she was still reeling from all the frakked up things that had happened to her this past year. Why couldn't she understand that he just wanted to be there for her. Help her?

As guilt twisted his expression into a grimace, Lee stepped into a side corridor and stopped to draw a shaky breath.

_Face it, it's not as if I haven't given her plenty of reason to doubt._

He knuckled his hands into fists as memories of the times he'd failed Kara flashed to mind. Why was he surprised that she had dismissed his father's hitting her as unimportant? Hadn't he chosen to push her into an exchange of blows…more than once even? And that wasn't taking into account her abusive childhood—the thought of which still made Lee want to smash something. And while it was true that Kara had caused her own share of emotional damage in this dysfunctional relationship of theirs, Lee couldn't ignore the verbal lashes he'd delivered over the years.

Fact was, he knew Kara was scared. It must seem that opening up her heart to another was the surest way to invite it to be carved out. He could certainly relate to that! A surge of anger at Kara stung him and Lee leaned back against the solid wall and fought it off. Things could have been—_would have been_—different if she hadn't run after their night together on New Caprica. And that knowledge still spurred a bitterness he had yet to fully master. In the wake of her breakdown, though, he'd had far too much time to struggle with it and his self-disgust at his own behavior. He liked to believe that he'd grown up a lot since then; yet there were still times when the ugly emotions reared their heads and caught him unprepared.

Like now.

Purposefully, he thumped his head back against the metal wall behind him, seeking to dislodge the resentment he felt at Kara's always having to make things so damned difficult.

He straightened then. This wasn't getting him anywhere.

Resuming his course, Lee approached the Admiral's quarters, only to find them empty. Changing direction, he set off for CIC. Yet, on entering and surveying the command center, he discovered that his father wasn't here either. Gaeta appeared to have the watch. Just great, Lee sourly thought, having rather avoided the junior officer after their last confrontation. Reluctantly deciding that it would be ridiculous to wander Galactica looking for his dad when all he had to do was ask, Lee strode forward.

Giving the man a nod in greeting, "I'm looking for the Admiral," he said, taking note of the hard glint in the dark eyes as they met his.

"He's _meeting_ with the President and gave orders not to be _disturbed_."

Lee frowned at the innuendo in Gaeta's tone and choice of words. Had the man really meant to imply what he had? Not that Lee was blind to the shift in the two leaders' relationship since Kara's supposed death. It was true, that at first, he'd been too lost in his own grief to notice how Laura had made a point of being there for his father in the weeks after. Regardless of what might or might not be going on between the pair, that was their business. Most certainly not some jumped-up staff officer with an attitude problems.

Narrowing his gaze at the near-insolence of the Lieutenant's statement, Lee debated a reprimand. A sweeping glance of the other personnel in CIC convinced him otherwise and he held his tongue as the many heads quickly ducked back to whatever tasks they'd been doing before his entrance.

It dawned on Lee then that he didn't really have any official authority anymore. As much as he disliked the notion, he'd have to let Gaeta's insubordinate remark drop.

"Tell the Admiral that I need to speak with him as soon as possible," Lee said, making the effort to keep the censure from his voice.

"I'll pass the message along," replied Gaeta and again there was an undertone of disrespect that made Lee wonder if his request would be conveniently forgotten. Delayed maybe, he decided, but he doubted that the man would dare to go so far as to risk a formal reprimand if Lee brought the matter before the Admiral.

Leaving the murmur of CIC behind, Lee made his way aft. He had skipped breakfast and his stomach was reminding him of that fact. And given that he was going to have to wait to speak with his dad, and was currently at loose ends for any duties, Lee decided to grab a bite from the mess.

A few crewmembers exchanged greetings with him as he took his allotted morning serving and then settled at a corner table by himself. He wasn't looking for conversation. What he needed was time to consider all he'd learned from Kara, and come up with a strategy on dealing with her. This obsession with Earth he could at least understand. The revelation of her feelings towards Leoben, though…that had come as an unpleasant shock. It had been a relief to learn that the Cylons hadn't harmed her further while she'd been held on the basestar, but that had quickly given way to dismay once she admitted not wanting the Two dead. Sure, he'd known that she still had issues with the Cylon male, but her apparent conflicting emotions for her captor had made him pause.

Forcing himself to take a step back, Lee had recalled his time in War College. The bonding of prisoner and captor wasn't particularly common, but it _was_ well documented. And from all Lee had heard since, Leoben was just the sort of manipulative bastard to purposefully set out to foster that sort of connection. He'd had Kara so twisted around that she obviously believed that her feelings were real.

_Who am I to say they aren't._

Stabbing a pseudo-sausage, Lee grimly chewed it, oblivious to the odd texture and taste. Then he shoveled a bite of what passed for hash into his mouth, and then another, suddenly in a hurry to finish the meal. He needed to get down to the hanger deck. Somewhere—probably still on the Heavy Raider—the cartridge with Leoben's last download was waiting. Since he couldn't get his hands on the Cylon directly, Lee decided he'd have to settle for smashing the repository of the that Two's essence.

Lee rose even as he swallowed his last bite.

He left the now-empty tray on the table behind him for someone else to clean up.

"At ease, Starbuck," the Admiral said, and Kara relaxed into a parade-rest stance, still uncertain of what she'd walked into and unwilling to let her guard down fully.

"We just have a few questions, Kara," Laura's smile looked strained as she continued, "and thought you might be able to help us."

More questions. Why wasn't she surprised.

Hiding a grimace, Kara studied the two people that could supply her with a ship to continue the search for Earth, and the same ones that seemed determined to disregard her claims of having found it in the first place. A quick scrutiny of Laura was enough to see that the woman's cancer treatment was already taking a toll. Roslin looked even paler now than when Kara had seen her in sickbay just the day before.

And the Admiral…

As her gaze met his, Kara thought she saw a flicker of—pity? sorrow?—in his eyes. Her unease ratcheted up another notch.

"Your personnel records," Roslin brought a file up from her lap and set it on the table in front of her, "state that you were born on Caprica?" At Laura's look, Kara nodded in confirmation. "And your father was a musician while your mother was in the Colonial Marines?"

"Yeah, so?"

Kara couldn't see where this was going. She figured the Old Man had to know her file front to back by now. She doubted there was anything it held that would come as a surprise to either of the Fleet's two leaders. So why was the President suddenly so interested in her background? Her eyes narrowed on a suspicion. Perhaps Roslin had been scouring her history for any discrepancies that might prove that Kara was a Cylon plant.

_Are they back to me being a frakkin' Toaster?_

She waited. Let them ask, she didn't have anything to hide.

"It says here," with her index finger, Roslin tapped the topmost page, "that your mother's name was Socrata Thrace?"

She started to nod when a sound from the Colonel made her glance his way. He was staring at her now as if searching for something. Kara's gaze quickly shifted back to Laura as the President repeated her question, asking for her to also verify her date of birth.

More bewildered than ever, Kara answered, only to turned again to Tigh as the scrape of a chair and a disbelieving grunt immediately followed as the man rose to his feet.

"My Gods! You're_ Socrata's_ daughter?!"

As Tigh's incredulous statement registered, Kara frowned. What was the XO's frakking issue now.

"And yours, Saul," rasped Adama.

The Admiral's words didn't make sense, and as her eyes shot back to him, she again saw the flash of pity in his expression.

_What the—_

"Holy _frakkin'_ hell."

As the Colonel's exclamation broke past her own silent curse, Kara's gaze was yanked around and she saw how the man's one good eye had widened to the point that the white showed. Shock had raised both of his thinning eyebrows high on his forehead, and he looked like someone had just shot him.

A growing sense of apprehension thinned Kara's lips into a scowl. And she blinked, perplexed by Tigh's reaction and still at a loss over what they were talking about, Kara twisted to face the two at the table. Her eyes flicked between them, trying to piece together what they were getting at. Attempting to make some sense out of what had been said.

"Kara," Adama said her name softly, yet she tensed as if he'd snapped at her. "Listen to me. The Doc ran some tests… Your DNA… Saul's." She was already shaking her head, "He's your biological father, Kara."

She waited, gaze fixed to Adama's.

Waited for the Admiral to crack a grin.

Waited for the Old Man to let out a guffaw and then share the joke.

Waited for her father-figure to let out a snort of laughter and say, 'Gotcha, Starbuck!'

She waited…and a roar slowly built in her head.

"No," barely a whisper. "No. I don't…" slightly louder, but still muffled by the white noise reverberating in her ears. She was cold. Why was it suddenly so cold in here? Blinking rapidly, Kara sought to make the puzzle pieces fit, tried to grasp the reality of what he was saying. But there was no reality here. It was impossible.

"_No,"_ she snapped then, her denial vehemently certain this time. "This is bull! I know what you're trying to do," sweeping the pair with an accusing glare, "You think the Cylons frakked with my head. Think I'm delusional. That I never found Earth. And you're frakkin' afraid that if _they_," hitching a thumb to indicate all those beyond the hatch, "hear that I have, then _they'll_ believe me," she said, voicing swiftly rising. Focusing her hot gaze on Roslin, she bitterly said, "I trusted you on a vision. _A vision!_"

Adama slowly rose to lean with palms on the table before him. He caught her furious gaze and held it a moment before speaking.

"You are Saul Tigh's biological daughter," he said. "There's no mistake. No conspiracy to silence you. He and your mother were together for a time on Caprica."

Kara's eyes bored into familiar blue ones, searching for some hint of deception. On finding none, she faltered…and the brittle denial shattered into shards, slicing her world into unrecognizable fragments and leaving her to bleed out.

"I didn't know." The strained words brought Kara's head slowly around to the man at her side. She hadn't noticed Saul move. "Socrata… Your mom, she never told me. I swear I didn't know."

Tigh's words barely registered as Kara fought to stem the torrent of loss. Everything she knew about herself was wrong. Where she came from—what she even was—it was all a lie. Her sense of identity, of self, drained from her in rivulets to pool at her feet.

But Kara Thrace had been cut before. And if there was one thing she'd learned from a lifetime of physical harm, it was how to do a field dressing. A pressure bandage here. A tourniquet there. Bind the damage now and deal with the consequences later. And so, with practiced detachment, she clamped off the psyche wounds and shifted into evade and escape mode.

"You're all frakkin' insane," she said, adding a sneer to taunt the man—no, _the Cylon_—as his brows drew down into a customary scowl. Then, without sparing a glance at pair at the table, Kara spun and yanked the hatch open.

"Captain Thrace, you are not dismissed!" came the loud reprimand from behind. The three Marines just outside the door reacted immediately, moving to block her exit.

It felt like lava had replaced her soul's blood. The heat of it coursed through Kara and pushed a growing wave of rage before it. Something must have been visible in her face, for the guards instinctively recoiled before remembering their training and prepared to seize her.

"_Wait!"_ The shouted command, in a feminine voice, froze the tableau and halted the guards before they could engage. "Bill, let her go," Roslin said. "She needs time to process this all, and space in which to do so."

Kara heard the words, and the Admiral's reluctant consent that followed, but they came at her from a distance. Nothing mattered except those that blocked her escape. But then they parted, the black-clad figures moving to each side of the corridor to allow her to pass. Without further thought, she stalked from the room, tense and prepared to react if they suddenly moved against her. They didn't. Yet, as she made the first turn leading away from the conference room, Kara was aware of one presence at her back. A part of her mind knew who it was that trailed in her wake. Mathias, her constant shadow since that she'd again lost the Admiral's trust.

She didn't give a damn.

She didn't give a damned about any of it—_any of them_—anymore.

There was only the need to run.

Kara's mind was on lockdown, her path determined by habit rather than purpose. It wasn't until she stood outside the open hatch leading to the bunk quarters she used to share with the other pilots that she finally halted.

Inside, Kat looked up from the table, and Kara saw surprise and then relief in the younger pilot's expression.

"Hey, Cap, good to s—"

Without even giving the woman time to finish the greeting, Kara twisted away and strode on. She didn't belong there now. But where else was there for her to go? Pushing at the clotted mess of her mind, Kara sought a direction. Her stride carried her onward to the CAG's quarters. She closed and locked the metal door behind her. At least here she could triage the damage in private.

For that she'd need some anesthetic.

Moving to Lee's abandoned locker, thankful that he hadn't actually remembered to take his stuff when he was here before, Kara squatted to rummage in the bottom.

_There! Just what the doctor—_

She chopped that thought off. She didn't want to think about Cottle. About his lies and his tests. About the lies his tests exposed.

She grasped the bottle by the neck and stood. Kicking one of the chairs around, Kara straddled it and slammed her prize on the table before her. She didn't move to immediately uncap it, though. Instead, she glared at the amber liquid, finding herself unaccountably loathed to open the bottle. What the hell was she waiting for? This rotgut wasn't going to get any better with age, she told herself. Yet still she hesitated. Running both hands through her hair, she gave a yank and felt the sharp pain along her scalp. It felt good. There was a familiarity in the discomfort that was reassuring in a way Kara didn't want to examine. She toyed with the idea of breaking the bottle; it's jagged edges could be used to physically manifest the state of inner being.

A memory flashed forward then of blood dripping from her wrist as she gouged a path with a makeshift knife. She had come to believe on New Caprica that that was her only escape. Was that what she thought now? Was it what she wanted—a permanent way out?

Shaking her head, Kara grabbed up the half-full bottle and forcefully unscrewed the top. She welcomed the burn as she knocked back a long swallow. Not the Chief's best, she inanely decided, the capricious thought reminding her that there were others that had just discovered that their whole life had been some great cosmic joke. How the Gods must be laughing their frakking heads off. And they apparently had a sick sense of humor, too, she thought, and took another swig from the bottle.

Again the liquor scorched her throat, and she coughed.

_Damn, forgot how disgusting this stuff is! _

No one would've guess it from the volume Starbuck was known to put away in the past, but Kara _really_ detested the taste of alcohol. Like so much else, though, she had learned how to push through the unpleasantness; the numbness on the other side worth the effort. She was determined to do the same today. After another swallow, she rested her forehead on edge of the chair back, waiting for the brew to do its work, waiting for the world to right itself while her physical equilibrium spun the other way. This is what it took, wasn't it? Surely with enough anesthetic, she could peel away the bandages and see what was left to patch back together, right? It's what she did. How she survived. Yet a part of Kara feared that this time, when the wounds were exposed, there wouldn't be enough remaining to stitch together into a semblance of a whole.

So sorry, this one's terminal. Nothing to save here. End of line. Black X on the forehead.

Sitting up, Kara touched fingertips to the skin above her brows and wondered if the mark was visible to everyone. Not that she cared what everyone thought. Just a select few…and they already knew…even without an X marking the spot.

Her thoughts jumped then to Lee. Had he known? When he'd taken her hand on the couch, had be already been told? She shifted to squint at the offending piece of furniture, searching her slowing mind for any clue that Apollo had been aware of Cottle's discovery. No, he couldn't have. If Lee had been aware that she was some bastard knockoff of Tigh's, some frakked up mix of human and Cylon, he wouldn't have come within spitting distance of her. The Admiral must have decided to do her the one last courtesy of telling her before he exposed the truth to the rest of the crew. It was just the sort of 'honorable' thing the Old Man was known for. Not that it made a whole frakking lot of difference in the end.

She tipped the bottle back again, gulping rather swallowing this time. When she came up for air, Kara grimaced at the burn in her throat and stomach.

Glaring at the near-empty bottle, she wondered what to do once she'd reached the bottom. Did she want to wait here until they came for her? Wait for the President to give the order?

Kara pinched the bridge of her nose as a different ache started. She knew the Old Man well enough to guess that it'd be hard on him to follow through. Hadn't he once insisted that he viewed her as a daughter? She could even believe that he'd feel some pain at having to carry out Roslin's decree…but he'd do it anyway. He was the Admiral. He had a duty to protect the Fleet. She distantly wondered if she'd be expected to share an airlock with Tigh.

Her harsh laugh broke the silence of the cabin as she envisioned the pair of them waiting for the pressure door to pop open. Oh, yeah, what a perfect scene. She could just see how it would play out.

_So, Starbuck, sorry about knocking up your whore of a mom._

_No problem, Dad. I had a shitty childhood, but hey, it wasn't your fault._

_Well, good then. Glad we had this talk._

Right, a real father-daughter bonding moment before their grand exit.

Gods, she hoped that Lee and the Old Man would stay away. Kara didn't want the last time she saw either of them to be at her execution. Maybe they'd offer the privilege of pressing the button to someone like Gaeta. She'd seen the way he'd looked at her the few times their paths had crossed since her return and he'd probably jump at the idea of payback. What a frakking punchline if Gaeta was the one to blow her ass out the airlock.

She was done with begging, though.

Rolling the bottle along her forehead, Kara wished it was chilled, it's cold surface would have felt good against her pounding head. She muttered an oath, frustrated that it was taking its damned sweet time bringing relief…though, ok, she took that back as she felt the first flush of its effects starting to infuse her body. Randomly, she wondered if being half Cylon had given her a higher tolerance to alcohol. Athena was supposed to be more resistant to radiation—or so the Doc claimed. Maybe it meant that a freak like herself wasn't as damaged by it either.

Crap, what did it matter anyway?

None of it mattered.

She hadn't found Earth; it had to have been some stupid ruse of the Cylons to use her to lure the Fleet into a trap. Just like the Admiral suspected, right? She wondered how long had they had been jacking her with false thoughts? Had it started on New Caprica? Or maybe even before then…perhaps on the Farm? Ah, hell, for all she knew, the Toasters could've been controlling her every move since she popped out of her mom's womb.

As a human, Kara had been able to convince herself that her memories were just that—her own. But now? She gave a bitter snort. Oh, yes, it all made a frak-load of sense now: the missing four days, her supposed jump into a spatial anomaly that no one else had seen; hell, it even explained her blackouts on New Caprica…and even earlier than that. Had any of it been real?

Lifting her hand, she frowned at the small, circular scar on the back; evidence of torture…or was it a byproduct of their programming process? Kara rubbed her thumb along the other wrist. The slight thickening of skin was still apparent to the touch and a bitter smirk twisted her mouth.

The bastards had still had to restrain her. Whatever else had happened, she hadn't always been a willing participant.

The proof that she'd fought them eased some of the tightness in her chest. Whatever of her memories were false, Kara decided that those of the Six's frustration weren't. At least Kara could believe that she'd had some control on New Caprica and had used it against the Cylons' attempts to subvert her.

Just like now.

Kara abruptly realized that she still choice in her actions.

If the visions of Earth had been planted by the Toasters…as the Admiral and President obviously thought…then it didn't matter that she couldn't remember the coordinates. She hadn't failed because it had been a frakking sham all along. And it meant that now she could give up the fight to convince everyone that she knew the way to the home of the thirteenth tribe.

The breath Kara hadn't been aware that she'd been holdings eased out in a long gust of relief.

She was so frakking tired. Dragging her down was a fatigue the likes that no amount of sleep could ever relieve. With another long pull on the bottle, Kara felt the alcohol build on the effects of a soul exhausted by a lifetime of effort.

Rising to unsteady legs, she considered the unmade bunk. A temporary solution. What she needed was a permanent fix. Her gaze skittered around the cabin, the room's overabundance of furnishings—and history—abruptly made her feel claustrophobic.

She needed space to breathe.

She needed space.

Grabbing up the remains of the Chief's home brew, Kara unlocked the hatch and stepped out—only to be met with the presence of her constant guard. She saw the Sergeant's eyes glance from hers to the bottle and then back again. Concern flickered across the other woman's face.

Though Kara liked the Sergeant, she usually tried to ignore her, choosing to acknowledge the Marine as little as possible in silent protest at the Admiral's mistrust, but as Mathias' brows drew together, Kara bridled at the disapproval she read in her expression.

"Taking a walk," Kara snapped in answer to the unspoken question. She started to move past but felt a hand grasp her elbow.

"Captain, it might be best—" the Sergeant began, but broke off as Kara sharply thrust against her, the force of Kara's elbow catching her unprepared. Off balance, Mathias stumbled back and fell, her head striking the lip that ran along the base of the open hatch with a dull thud.

"Oh, Shit! Oh,Frak!" Kara stared in horror at the sprawled figure. _"Frak no! No, no, no, no! You can't…"_ Kara trailed off, frantically dropping to her knees, the bottle falling forgotten from her hand as she scrambled for a pulse at Mathias' throat. The woman's head was bent awkwardly forward with her helmet tipped over her eyes. It took Kara long seconds before she felt the reassuring throb against her searching fingertips.

Alive. She was alive.

_Thank gods!_

A wave of profound relief swept over Kara as she felt the steady rhythm of the other woman's heartbeat. But then her stomach heaved and she swiftly turned her head to retch. The pounding at her temples reached a new peak as she expelled what alcohol hadn't yet been absorbed by her system.

Once the violent roiling her in gut had subsided, Kara sat back on her heels, eyes returning to the Sergeant's still unconscious form.

She had to get the Doc.

Kara stood then, and immediately swayed, reaching to catch her balance on the nearest bulkhead. Blinking against the dizziness, she checked the corridor but it was still frustratingly empty in both directions. She'd have to go find someone herself. Staggering only a little as she moved along the quickest route to sickbay, her reaction to Mathias' grabbing her arm replayed through her mind. She hadn't meant to shove her so hard, only intending to force the Marine to back-the-frak-off. And it had all gone wrong so frakking fast!

Finally!

Spotting a crewmember coming her way, Kara stepped in front of the man and quickly said, "Marine down in section B3Alpha," and hitched a thumb back the way she'd come. "Need the Doc and a pair of corpsmen ASAP." As the man blinked at her in startled confusion, she grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. _"For frak's sake, go!"_ she snapped, and gave him a push for good measure.

After a last flustered look back over his shoulder at her, the crewman hurried away, and Kara was reassured that help was on the way for the Sergeant.

But now what? She'd made matters worse; hardly possible, she thought to herself, yet leave it to her to find a way of taking things to a whole new frakking level.

She took a moment to get her bearings. If she went left at the next junction, it would only be a short distance to the hanger bay. With a grimace, Kara realized that there was nothing there for her. She'd never get access to a Viper, even if she could snatch a jocksmock. And while she might bluff her way onto a Raptor, the Line Officer on deck would insist on getting clearance before letting her launch; all the prior obstacles in her plan to commandeer a ship to search for Earth readily applied now, too. And with her head reeling, she couldn't think of a way around them.

They'd be coming for her soon. Even if no one had already found the Sergeant, they would at any moment now…and then the hunt for her would be on. The Admiral might have settled for her being confined to quarters until a formal decision was made, but that was before she'd attacked the Sergeant. There was no way he'd believe that she hadn't meant to harm Mathias. Not now that he knew what she really was.

So, if stealing a ship was off the table, where to go then?

Kara wasn't giving any thought to a goal beyond evading capture, and it wasn't as if she were thinking particularly clearly; with a mind still muddled by alcohol and shock, she was acting on years of habit. All she knew in that moment was the pressure to run…or hide if there were no escape to be had. Thinking of the stacks where she'd retreated before, Kara quickly dismissed them. Undoubtedly they'd be one of the first places checked.

What she needed was some place secluded.

A place that the crew avoided if they could.

Her step paused as a potential location sprang to mind.

Ever since Cally and Galen's close call, no one went near airlock twelve. Of course, the Chief had insisted on having the entire section inspected and properly patched, and he'd even gone so far as to juryrig a separate door control _inside_ the airlock, but the area had become a rarely visited storage space for broken parts and other assorted junk deemed too valuable to jettison because it might one day have a use.

Yeah, and that description fit her spot-on now, Kara thought; broken, but whose usefulness hadn't yet been determined. Whatever. It seemed a likely place to hole up. And that was all Kara was looking for now.

Her steps took her towards the distance section of _Galactica_. Her stride was a little unsteady, but it wasn't until the third person that she passed gave her the same startled glance before judiciously looking away that it dawned on her that she was drawing unwanted attention. Not that the sight of a drunk Starbuck wandering the battlestar's corridors was an uncommon sight, but that it was probably due to the fact that most had believed her dead just a couple of days ago.

_Crap. _

Muttering a string of silent curses, Kara realized that the Marine search party wouldn't have much difficulty following her path. Not to mention that she could expect the Admiral to issue a shipwide broadcast of her fugitive status at any moment.

She had to get out of the corridors.

Up ahead she spotted one of the ships many maintenance slots, a panel set low to the floor that allowed access to the interior systems of the ship. A glance both ways confirmed that she currently had this passageway to herself. Despite her lack of coordination, it took only a few seconds work to pry the covering off and shimmy into the crawl space within. After twice as long—and several scraped knuckles—she had managed to secure the screen back in place behind her.

None too soon as Kara heard footsteps beyond the metal wall that hid her. She took stock again of where she was within the massive ship's structure, thankful that her goal wasn't really that far from her current location, and she began to crawl.

If Kara had given it much thought, she probably would have realized that hiding within the superstructure of the vessel was a better option than even her original destination. But she was moving on instinct now, too caught up in evasion and escape mode to consider anything beyond the immediate need to press on.

When the expected announcement came, she paused, surprised at the Admiral's carefully worded command for her to report to his cabin immediately. She'd been sure he wouldn't waste time and would immediately issue the orders for her arrest.

And yet…

Kara rested her aching forehead on her arms, catching her breath as she debated giving herself up. The haze of alcohol and adrenaline that had been driving her forward to this point was starting to fade, leaving room for the hopelessness of her actions to settle in. She was just delaying the inevitable, wasn't she? The Admiral would order _Galactica_ searched from stem to stern. She'd be found. Even these walls wouldn't provide protection from a determined pursuit.

So why push on?

As her thoughts shifted, she realized that her goal really wasn't to hide. She acknowledged to herself then that it had _never_ been about getting away. Where the hell would she go, anyway?

There was nothing she could do to change her past, to change _what_ she is. But she grimly knew that there was one thing she could still do for those she cared about.

Whether she chose to surrender or reached her goal, Kara believed that there was an airlock waiting for her in either case. At least this way she got to determine the when and where…and if in doing so she saved the Old Man the burden of ordering her execution she figured she owed him that much.

Lifting her head again, Kara crawled on.


	138. Chapter 138 Specialist

Chapter 138 Specialist

Sweat trickled down Kara's face and she had to halt her slow crawl to fight back a sneeze. The maintenance ducts needed a thorough cleaning. But then again, that wasn't a particular surprise. Everything about _Galactica_ needed a shitload of work, she thought with a grimace. The battlestar had held up well since the fall of the Colonies, yet really, how much longer before critical systems began to fail and replacement parts couldn't be cobbled together, she wondered.

Pausing a moment at the next junction, Kara swiped an arm against her forehead and considered her options. Unless she had gotten completely turned around, airlock twelve should be just portside of her now.

_So, if I go that way_ —Kara craned her head to the left— _I should be almost there._

After wiggling awkwardly around the tight corner, she sighed in relief as the outline of a panel came into view. A few minutes more of maneuvering on sore elbows and knees and she finally stopped before the screen. She listened attentively as she caught her breath. Nothing to hear but the ever present murmur of the great ship's engines, so Kara worked to loosen the covering.

Damned thing was stuck.

With a huff of frustration, she realized that she was going to have to risk alerting any nearby crew. Shifting into position, Kara waited for a moment more for any indication of sounds from the other side, then she drove her forearm and elbow against the rusted seal. The metal panel popped free with a protesting squeak and fell to the deck plating. Kara froze as the clang of metal on metal seemed to echo in the deserted hallway.

Once assured that no immediate alarm had sounded, she pulled herself from the ductwork and quickly replaced the grating. A swift survey of her surroundings confirmed that she come out just a few steps beyond where she'd figured.

_Chief would be proud._

But on the heels of that self-congratulatory thought, came the reminder that Tyrol was likely still locked up in the Cylon holding cell with the others. Which was exactly where she'd be headed if she didn't get her ass in gear, she reminded herself.

Moving with more coordination now as the alcohol she'd consumed worked its way from her system, Kara stepped into the control alcove outside the airlock proper. A look through the plexiglass confirmed the area within was empty of all but boxes and parts. She surveyed the panel, frowning at the unfamiliar layout. Not that it really mattered at this point if she set off a system warning. Kara knew that she only needed to gain access to the airlock and figure out the hatch controls Galen had rigged inside. Once done, it wouldn't matter how many Marines came looking for her then.

One toggle switch looked promising. She flipped it up and was rewarded with the hiss of the inner hatch sliding open in response. Deciding it wasn't worth the time to search for some method to lock controls to the remote switch, Kara entered Airlock Twelve and crossed to the outer doors, inspecting the panel for some clue of how to access the remote the Chief had said he'd created for the chamber.

A sound from behind spun her around.

_Cally?! _

_What the frak?_

Kara stared in surprise at the figure partially hidden between a mess of boxes and crates. As her gaze dropped from the bent head, she realized that the younger woman held a child in her lap with one arm…and the door controls clutched in the other shaking hand. Before Kara could form a coherent question, Cally looked up to meet her confused gaze.

She looked awful: bloodshot eyes, red-rimmed and puffy with dark circles that emphasized the haunted expression in their lost depths. The younger woman's hair was oily and unkempt, and her small frame trembled with occasional shudders. In fact, everything about her looked bedraggled, like she was unraveling before Kara's eyes.

"Cally?"

Kara saw the twitch of fingers, and her head jerked around as the inner hatch closed swiftly with a _whish_ of sound.

Looking back, "Cally, what're you doing in here?" she asked, unsure how to handle the Specialist in this situation. When silence was her only answer, "you hurt? Is Nikki?" she pressed, eyes searching for some evidence that either of the pair were injured. She couldn't see any evidence of trauma…other than the obvious state of shock Cally seemed locked into .

Then her gaze fully took in the remote—and the implications of the green-lit button.

Apparently the Chief _had_ really cobbled the device together, for the usual safety turnkey was missing—on the top of the small box, only two button were visible, one for working the inner hatch, as she'd just seen, and that meant the other…

Kara licked suddenly dry lips.

As she took in the glazed look in Cally's eyes, Kara wondered if she could cross the distance between them in less time than it would take for the disturbed woman to flick off the protective cover and activate the release button for the outer hatch.

Not a chance in hell, she decided. Even if she'd been at the top of her game—which she certainly wasn't at the moment—there was just too much space between the two of them. Besides, a derisive voice in her head mocked, wasn't this exactly what Kara had come here for herself?

No. Not like this.

Not taking the kid and Cally with her, too.

Though, Kara supposed that it could be argued that it was the other way around since it was actually the Specialist that looked to blow all three of them out the airlock. A part of her found it grimly amusing. Here she'd believed she was making a choice, and had once again had been proven wrong.

_Well, frak them. _

_Frak the Gods. _

_Frak the Old Man and Laura. _

_And hell, frak Cally and her kid! What do I care, right?! _

Kara twisted away then, and leaned her hands on the outer doors, feeling the cold of space that even the battlesteel couldn't fully rebuff. She could feel it beckoning, offering a permanent numbness. But then a low whimper, more a snuffle really, from behind her made Kara turn again. And as her gaze fell on the little boy shifting in his mother's embrace, another feeling surged through the anger and despair that had gripped Kara ever since the Admiral's words had finally smashed through her denial.

"Shhh. It's ok. Shhh, now baby," Cally murmured, her attention momentarily focused on the child in her lap. Watching her, Kara remembered the warm weight as she'd held Kacey and told her stories of heroic Viper pilots and read to her from the single book Leoben had found for them.

She couldn't do this.

Couldn't let Cally do it either.

Kara took a step forward only to immediately halt as the strung-out woman's head jerked up and she lifted the handunit in warning. Raising her own hands out to her side as proof that she didn't intend anything, Kara sidled to the nearest crate and sat, abruptly thankful for the support as her balance waivered. Maybe it hadn't been such a great idea to knockback the rotgut quite _that_ fast, she decided, gripping the rough edges of the wooden box until the brief dizziness passed.

Shifting her attention back to Cally, she tried to reason what had brought her to this point. She had an idea…and yet? She studied the younger woman, unable to reconcile Cally's apparent intent with the person Kara knew.

Venturing a question, "What's going on?" she neutrally asked, hoping that if she could get her talking, it might be possible to get a handle on how to talk her down.

"Can't stop me." There was a hysterical edge in Cally's tone as brown eyes briefly met Kara's gaze before skittering away.

"This about Galen?"

As Cally's expression tightened into one of betrayal, Kara had her answer.

Or at least a way in.

"Yeah, that came as a shock," Kara said. "Never would've pegged the Chief as a Cylon." She gauged the younger woman's reaction, satisfied when Cally's agitated gaze came back to hers and held. "He's worked so hard keeping our birds in the air. Had a million chances to take me out, to kill Apollo, too. A malfunction and no one the wiser." She paused for emphasis, then said, "Wonder why he never did?" and let the question hang between them.

A flash of uncertainty drew Cally's eyebrows together, but then she gave a violent twitch of her head as if to shake off whatever doubt Kara's remark had been pushed forward.

"Sam's a skinjob, too, you know," Kara said to underscore that she also knew—intimately so—what it felt like to discover that the man you'd married wasn't one at all. As the memory of her own reaction on the Heavy Raider flooded back through her, it was all Kara could do not to get up and pace. Oh, yeah, she got _exactly_ how Cally was feeling. And if she hadn't been so focused on the belief that she'd found Earth, Kara admitted to herself that she might have jumped the Cylon shuttle into the nearest star…and readily taken the four skinjobs right along with her.

With the renewed surge of emotions that had driven her to the airlock in the first place, the feeling to urge Cally to just go ahead and push the button twisted her gut. But again her eyes fell to the boy. He appeared deeply asleep now, oblivious to the tension around him.

Giving into her own despair wasn't an option. Not if it meant that Nikki would die, too. Her anger shifted then, coming squarely onto the mother that intended to harm her own child.

"So you frakked a skinjob. So what," she said. "I've done more than one, so yeah, big frakkin' deal!" Cally's eyes widen in surprise at Kara's change in demeanor. "What you doing with Nikki? Planning on airlocking the both of you? What the hell, Cally?! You don't do that to your kid!"

As her fierce words impacted the younger woman, Kara saw her recoil from the accusation in their tone. And for the first time since she had entered the compartment, Cally's brown eyes really seemed to fully focus as they glared back at her.

"Frak you, Starbuck!" Cally's anger rose now to match Kara's own.

"Get in line," Kara snapped back, her tone so bitter that Cally's fury stuttered and she blinked. On her feet in an instant, Kara jabbed a finger at the other woman. "Poor little Cally, she fell for the Chief but he only wanted _Boomer_." As the dark head jerked in reaction, Kara harshly continued. "So you shot her. One to the chest. But, oh, no, not because you were jealous. Not because she was Galen's lover, but because she was a frakkin' Cylon, right!" Jabbing her finger again, "_Right?"_ she demanded.

"Shut up!"

"Truth stings, don't it," mocked Kara. Pressing on, "After Galen beat the crap outta you, you forgave him. He turned to you then, and you thought that he _finally_ saw you. Wanted _you_," jeered Kara. "Did you cry when he proposed? Come on, you can tell me." She gave a derisive laugh. "Bet he went down on one knee and everything." Cally's eyes were wide as she gaped at Kara. Ignoring her, Kara plowed right on. "Then the Old Man gave you two lovebirds permission to settle on New Caprica. You were gonna get the little family you'd always dreamed of." Kara crossed her arms then. "But it all turned to shit…the Cylons came back."

"_Shut up!"_

The child didn't even stir at its mother's raised voice, but Kara didn't notice, too caught up in her own memories and the desperate hope that she'd laid the correct course to reach the other woman. She continued to push. "And now you find out that you married one. A Cylon all along. _Pooooor_ Cally. She fell in love and hitched up with a frakkin' skinjob, then popped out another." Nodding towards the boy, Kara contemptuously demanded, "That why you doing this? Feeling sorry for yourself because you birthed a freak?"

"_SHUT-THE-FRAK-UP!"_ Cally yelled and shot to her feet, still clutching the child awkwardly to her. In a rage now, she faced Kara as she ranted, _"You don't know what you're frakking talking about!" _

With difficulty Kara kept the smirk from her lips. She'd pushed far enough, she decided, noting with satisfaction that the hysterical edge in Cally's eyes and voice had given way before the woman's fury. _This_ was something Kara knew how to handle; anger far better so than a suicidal depression.

"Don't I? Then tell me." Daring Cally then, she taunted, "Come on. Explain why it's a good idea to space your kid." As Cally glared at her, Kara abruptly changed tack. "He hasn't even got a coat on," she flippantly said.

She watched as the absurdity of her remark sank in and Cally's gaze dropped to the sleeping form in her arms. When the dark head lifted again, Kara was gratified to see that she looked horrified, no longer lost to what she had been about to do.

"I can't…" Cally started, trailing off as her eyes darted to the closed inner hatch. She took a breath then and continued. "I won't let them take him. They can't have him," her voice now fiercely protective as she shifted Nikki to a hip, angling her body slightly to partially shield the boy from Kara.

_What the frak?_

Kara's brows drew together as she worked to understand the other woman.

Pushing her sluggish mind to catch up, Kara tried to grasp what Cally meant. Take who? Nikki? Who would take him, and why would Cally think anyone would want to? Kara considered what she knew about the kid, then she remembered the circumstances surrounding Hera's birth. Could Cally really think the Admiral might remove Nikki from his mother's custody? Though, as Kara looked at her now, she wasn't so sure that wasn't the right move. But seriously, it wasn't like the kid was in danger from anyone. At that, Kara's gaze narrowed on the remote and she corrected herself, 'well, except for the whole being blow out an airlock thing, that is'. Frowning, Kara again berating herself for the alcohol that still scattered her thoughts and she forced herself to focus.

No. There had to be more to this than just fear of losing her child, else Cally wouldn't be prepared to jettison the both of them this way. Kara absolutely refused to believe that she could be that selfish. But if not, then what the hell was she thinking instead?

"Who do you think's gonna to take Nikki?"

"_Everyone!"_ Cally suddenly screamed in response. And that quickly, despairing fear flashed across her face and the glazed look was back, clouding her dark eyes again as the younger woman sagged back down into her former position. Frustrated, Kara watched as Cally pulled Nikki tightly against her chest and, with the remote clutched to the boy's back, began to rock.

Kara pursed her lips and scowled at the distressed figure, uncomfortably wondering if this was what _she_ had been like when they'd found her hidden in the hanger bay. Very few of the hours—_days?—_she'd spent in the cubby were clear in her memory. Had the Admiral felt this same helplessness as she did now?

She pressed palms to her eyes and tried to recall how they'd finally talked _her_ out. Helo was there. She was sure of that much as brief flashes of him came to mind, along with the Doc. Yeah, she vaguely remembered Cottle being there, too. Not a lot of help since neither man was present in the airlock with them now. Guess it was just her…and she'd better not frak this up.

Dropping her hands, Kara rubbed them along her thighs and scrutinized the hunched figure.

Everyone, Cally had said.

Why would she think that _anyone_ was coming for Nikki? Was it because he was Galen's kid? That made him a hybrid like Hera, right? And from what Kara had heard from Athena, and those on the basestar, the Cylons were desperate to procreate, and Hera—now Nikki, too—appeared to hold the key. Did Cally think that they'd make a move to take him? There was no way they'd get him off _Galactica, _at least not without someone on the inside, and even then…how could they smuggle him out?

Another dark thought came to mind.

Kara had learned from a very drunk Helo consoling himself after Hera's 'death' that Roslin had originally ordered the Admiral to terminate Sharon's pregnancy. At the time, Kara hadn't been sure she'd disagreed with the President, but there'd been no way she was going to tell Karl that. Her friend had been hurting, and her spouting off that his newborn's natural death was likely for the best wasn't going to make him feel any better.

After New Caprica…

Well, Kara had come to a new perspective on the loss of a child.

Tapping into an empathy that didn't come naturally to her, Kara tried to grasp how the revelation of Nikki's nature would come across to Cally.

"No one wants to hurt Nikki," she ventured, and watched as Cally's back and forth motion briefly paused before restarting. At least she wasn't too far gone to listen—though that _would_ have made getting the control box away a lot easier. That wasn't going to happen, so Kara tried persuasion again. "He's safe on _Galactica_," she said. "The Old Man'll protect him." Again the figure stilled. And this time she didn't resume rocking as Kara continued. "He's safe," she insisted, and Cally's head lifted to reveal fresh tears dampening pale cheeks. "No one's gonna take him," Kara repeated for good measure.

"_Like hell!"_

The shouted words rang loud in the closed compartment, and as Kara started to speak, Cally cut her off.

"No!I know what they think! H-he's an _abomination!_" Without pausing for breath. "I see how they looks at Hera. What they say w-when there aren't officers listening."

"No one—"

"_They do!"_ Cally said fiercely, interrupting Kara's assurances. "They do. And they laugh—not a nice laugh either. _I hate it!"_ Then her voice broke further as she went on. "And t-t-they said Doc Cottle sh-should _dissect_ her. They laughed…and-and took bets if he'd find b-b-batteries or a wind-up knob."

The image Cally's words brought to mind made Kara convulsively swallow to keep the bile down. No wonder she was freaking out. Sure, Kara knew there was a double handful on_ Galactica_ that still eyed Athena with distrust…and not all were from _Pegasus _either. But this? She hadn't believed—wanted to believe—that any of their people could look at Hera that way.

_For godssake, she's just a kid!_

Unclenching her jaw, "So report them," said Kara. "Give the Admiral names. He'll make _damned_ sure they don't bother Nikki." As Cally began to shake her head, "You think the Old Man's going to let any piss-ants hurt a kid? No frakkin' way," Kara growled. "He'd kick anyone's ass off _Galactica_ if they threaten Hera—or Nikki."

At least she hoped he would, but Kara wasn't about to share that small reservation with the distressed woman before her.

Taking a moment to study her, Kara was again struck by her appearance. She couldn't remember seeing Cally look this bad since their initial flight from the Twelve Colonies. Though, that wasn't quite true, Kara realized as she recalled the strained exhaustion in the Specialist's expression during the jumps to and from the algae planet. Starvation was bad enough as is, but watching your kid go hungry and not be able to do anything about it? Yeah, that had to have been hell for her.

A frown thinned her lips as Kara's eyes narrowed on the sleeping boy. It dawned on her then that the child hadn't stirred at all since she'd heard him fuss earlier. She'd heard that kids could sleep through just about anything, but had had some personal experience proving otherwise.

Their shouting should have roused him.

It hadn't.

"Cally, what's wrong with Nikki" she asked, a sick premonition already forming.

The other woman blinked up at her a moment before dropping her gaze to the boy and lifted a hand to brush an unruly lock of hair from his closed eyes.

"He's sleeping," stating the obvious, then, "I gave him something," Cally said by way of explanation as she looked up again. She must have interpreted Kara's concerned gaze correctly, for she hurried added, "Just half a pill Doc Cottle gave me to sleep."

"Half?" Kara skeptically demanded.

"Yes, I didn't want—" Cally broke off as her eyes flitted to the airlock hatch and fell to the decking between them.

As understanding sank in, Kara's angry disgust at what Cally had meant to do again rushed front and center. Between the Academy training videos and her experiences on _Galactica_ since, Kara understood exactly what the young mother thought she was protecting her child from. A death in space might be swift, but it was also excruciatingly painful—as Cally had partially found out first hand only a couple of months ago.

A point of fact that Kara hadn't given much thought to herself when she'd decided on her own course of action. With the Chief's homebrew slowing her thoughts, the idea of an exit from her current pain had pushed away the reality of what she'd intended.

_It's what you deserve._

The insidious words whispered through Kara's thoughts in her mother's voice, and she couldn't disagree with them. All the damage she'd razed in her path through life, culminating in the possible death of Sergeant Mathias just a short time ago, flooded back to taunt her; and Kara found her eyes settling on the glowing button of the control unit once more.

Hadn't she decided that she was doing everyone a favor?

Really, had anything changed since she'd entered the airlock?

Kara flinched as she recalled the Admiral's damning words revealing her true lineage. Saul Tigh was her father—and that made her a skinjob just as surely as if she'd come off an assembly line.

_Mama always said I was special. _

Sardonically, Kara wondered if her mother had always known that there was something wrong with her. If she'd thought she could beat it out of Kara. She had certainly tried. Too bad there was never the chance it could work; nothing was going to change _what_ she was. Like Cally had said…an abomination.

And really, she thought to herself, it even explain why her fath_—_why_ Dreilide Thrace_—had abandoned her. He'd probably sensed it, too. And once he found out that he wasn't even really her dad? Yeah, not a shocker that he'd hightailed it out of there and never looked back.

With a kid like her? Seriously, who wouldn't leave.

Given the same circumstances as Cally, Kara was willing to bet that Socrata would've wasted no time finding the nearest airlock to jettison the freak she'd given birth to.

Just like Cally.

But, as Kara's gaze refocused on the young mother before her, she realized that there were differences. Disposing of her kid hadn't been Cally's first move. She'd holed up in her cabin with the boy, instead. Why? If she truly thought the kid was a monstrosity, then she should have been in a hurry to dispose of him—of it. Yet she hadn't.

Crossing her arms before her, Kara frowned, perplexed at the discrepancy in Cally's behavior. Then, as the mother clasped Nikki to her, the way her body seemed to wrap protectively around the little boy really registered on Kara.

Cally might have frakking lost it, coming here to the airlock like this, but Kara abruptly understood that she was only trying to shield her child from harm. The irony of it made her huff a laugh. If anyone could understand that reasoning, it ought to be Kara. Hadn't she demanded the same thing from Sam when they'd been facing capture on Caprica? He'd seen her terror then and hadn't ridiculed her for it. Strange as it may seem, that memory still brought her a modicum of comfort.

And here now was Cally trying to do the same for her kid.

This was different, though. Here neither were in imminent danger, at least not from the Cylons. And on _Galactica_, Cally had a lot of people ready to defend her and Nikki. She wasn't alone in this. Even as these thoughts came to her, a part of Kara realized that they didn't apply only to Cally. How certain was she that Adama—and Lee—would cast _her_ aside now that they knew she was a hybrid like Hera?

Like Hera…and the same a Nikki.

Staring with widening eyes at the boy, it finally occurred to Kara that, genetically speaking, she was in fact the _firstborn _Human/Cylon hybrid. Had Leoben in his visions of streams and such somehow possessed this knowledge? What did it mean for the Two's insistence that she had a destiny?

Her head was already pounding, last thing she wanted was to dwell on the Cylon's obsession with her.

One niggling doubt did push through the thrumming pain. If Nikki didn't deserve to be thrown out like trash…to be hurt for something he had no control over, was _she_ any different? Despite her earlier musings over how alike Cally and Socrata were, she just could _not_ envision the woman before her beating her kid. And the same went for Athena.

So, if the fault didn't lie in Kara's origins, then where did it fall?

Before she could fully follow that line of thought, a motion beyond the observation window drew her attention. As their eyes met, Kara saw recognition in the crewman's expression and grimaced as he turned and hurriedly left.

_Just frakking great._

It would be only a matter of minutes now before the man returned with a Marine accompaniment.

As her gaze returned to the pair before her, concern over how Cally will react to a group of heavily armed guards storming into the airlock tightened the lines around Kara's eyes and mouth. It was time to make a decision. If she was still going to space herself, she had to get the other two out, and like right-the-frak-now. As her gaze shifted from the inner hatch to the outer and back to Cally, Kara gnawed on her lip. A reluctance she hadn't felt under the influence of the alcohol and shock now made her hesitate and she rubbed at her forehead. Where before she had accepted that her memory of Earth was just a Cylon machination, now there were too many doubts pricking the balloon of that belief. Were all her memories manufactured? What if they weren't; what if she really _had_ found the home of the Thirteenth Tribe?

Unable to answer those questions midst the chaotic state of her memories, Kara resolutely shifted her attention back to the Specialist. Noting how Cally was still trembling slightly, the chill of the room finally became apparent to Kara and she found herself rubbing at the goosebumps on her forearms she hadn't noticed before, wishing abruptly that she'd donned something over the double tanks she wore.

"Damned, it's cold in here," she said, taking a cautious step forward. When the other woman's only reaction was to nod slightly in agreement, Kara moved closer. "Don't know about you, but I hate the frakkin' cold. I'd rather be chilling on a beach on Leonis any day." Another step. She was within a stride's length now of the pair. "How about you? Lounging on a towel with one of those little umbrella drinks your thing?"

The corner of Cally's mouth twitched up briefly. "Like I ever got to Leonis," she said in response. Then, "Not like I was going to be vacationing there on a Specialist's income." Kara nodded, and they shared a knowing look in the age-old complaint of those in the Service at how paltry their paychits were. No, Kara hadn't ever saved enough either to afford the outrageous prices the resorts demanded.

She'd shifted now to standing just before Cally and, palm up, lifted a hand in request to the other woman.

As brown eyes sought hers for reassurance, "It'll be ok," she said, and a beat passed as Cally's gaze flickered to the remote, then Nikki, and back to Kara before hesitantly placing the unit in her outstretched hand. Closing her fingers around the cool metal, Kara retreated a step and released her held breath.

Activity outside the plexiglass barrier brought her gaze up and she saw that she'd disarmed Cally just in time when the alcove beyond filled with the black-clad uniforms of a Marine Response Team. Her eyes widened, then narrowed in consternation as Adama shoved his way forward to face her through the window. She wondered what he made of the situation as he eyes fell upon the remote she held. It would only take a flick of her thumb to expose the green-lit button. A second—two at the max—and she could signal the outer hatch to open. Kara read that awareness in the Admiral's grim expression and she wondered if he would prefer if she did it…and save him the unpleasantness of ordering it done.

But then the greying head was moving side-to-side and a pleading look filled those clouded blue eyes.

Kara frowned, confused by the Old Man's apparent appeal that she not do anything that drastic. Then her gaze again shifted to Cally and Nikki. Of course. Here was the explanation. Adama's concern was that she'd take the pair with her…and he wouldn't want _that_. Yet, even as her bitter gaze lifted to his, Kara recalled glancing through the observation window herself before entering the airlock. From there, both the younger woman and her child had been hidden from view by the surrounding boxes…as they still were.

Then why…?

Her thought broke off as a crewman pointed at the panel and Adama reached forward.

"Starbuck," his voice coming overly loud through the compartment's intercom, "This isn't the way," he said, and she searched for meaning in his words. She shook her head, taken aback by what she'd almost call concern she thought she heard in his tone.

"Kara, don't."

There was no mistaking the entreaty in his tone now, and she flashed back to the look in the Admiral's eyes when he'd told her that Saul was her father. Shock had prevented her at the time from really taking in the compassion and sorrow in his expression, yet now she saw it again in his drawn face and was perplexed as she'd expected only revulsion when he looked at her now. Another memory then pushed to the fore. This time of Roslin ordering the guards to let her pass, of Laura insisting that Kara be given time to process what she'd been told. Neither of their responses made sense to her. Not with what she believed each of them must think of her now that they knew her for what she was.

Frowning, Kara tried to bring the opposing views in line. Again she shook her head, then noticed the way Adama stiffened. Her eyes dropped to the remote in her hand and Kara decided it was time to end this.

Moving backwards until she was a distance from Cally and Nikki, she paused beside the crate nearest the outer hatch.

"_Kara,"_ fear strained his voice as he called out to her again.

Ignoring him now, she pressed the inner hatch release, then placed the control unit on the crate and dropped to her knees with her hands clasped behind her back. She wanted whatever happened next kept as far from the huddled pair as possible.

It only took a moment for the Marines to rush in, and Kara was unceremoniously shoved face down onto the deck plating. She grunted as someone pressed a knee to her spine, holding her securely in place as her arms were yanked around and cuffs snapped onto her wrists uncomfortably tight.

Guess they didn't take kindly to her injuring one of their own, she thought as her mind turned grimly to wonder if Mathias was ok. Hoping that the guards' rough treatment wasn't her answer, Kara searched their eyes as she was hauled upright. Nothing in the men's cold expression gave her a clue and she shifted her gaze to the Admiral as he moved to stand in front of her.

"Sir?" The hesitantly spoken greeting swiveled everyone's attention to where Cally still sat, obviously confused and startled by the guards' swift entry and actions.

"What…" the Admiral began, only to trail off as his gaze took in the boy still sleeping peacefully in the young woman's lap. His eyes moved then from the two back to Kara and this time there was the expected accusation in their depths. "Explain!" he barked at her.

Kara shrugged, suddenly too tired to come up with a coherent answer for how the three of them had ended up in the airlock together, let along the intent behind their presence here.

Adama swung his gaze back to Cally then, a raised eyebrow making it clear he expected a better answer from her.

"I-I-I brought Nikki… I thought…well," she fumbled, obviously also at a loss at what to say either.

Kara watched Adama's glare move between the two of them before he took a breath and ran a hand over his face, his manner changing as he twisted to fully face the Specialist.

Pointing at Cally and her son, "You two, report to Doc Cottle." Turn back to Kara then, he paused for a long moment before reluctantly giving the command for her to be taken to the brig. She had to admit that she was surprised that he hadn't ordered the guards to frog-march her to the Cylon holding cell instead.

As fingers harshly grasped her bare arms and propelled her towards the inner hatch, Kara didn't glance back at the Admiral.

She'd made her decision to accept whatever came next.

She'd just have to live…or die with it.


End file.
